


The Lily in the Field, The Bird of the Air

by DC20



Category: Senjou no Valkyria | Valkyria Chronicles
Genre: Asymmetric Warfare, Drama, Gen, War, War on Terror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DC20/pseuds/DC20
Summary: Salinas loves Freesia in ways he's never loved another woman, but when Squad 7 is deployed to the Barious Desert a run in with her people leaves him split between loyalty to his country and loyalty to his friend, and when changes to the ROE leave the Squad facing an enemy they can't shoot, he must face the prospect that his first kill of the war might be of a fellow Gallian.





	1. Chapter 1

** **The Lily in the Field, The Bird of the Air** **

When I arrived at the scene of the firefight, all I could think about was my mother. "Salinas," she'd written me in the first letter I received from her after joining the Militia, "I know better than anyone the Hell you raise. Listen to your officers and follow their orders. I'll always be your mother, but I'll let them play the role for the time being. It'll bring you home safe."

I wondered if she would have sent me that letter if she could have seen the killzone.

Blood washes away in the rain. Body bags don't. There were three of them lined up along the side of the road, and rain pounded down on their outer linings. I had always loved rainstorms. As a kid I'd stayed up half the night listening to the drops pattering on the roof of my family's small home in Montdam before drifting off to sleep. My little sister hated it. The noise terrified her. I never understood how the sound could have brought so much fear until I heard the same pattering against the body bags.

It had been raining for three days, and from what I was told it was going to rain for at least three more. My poncho kept me dry, but it didn't protect morale. The scene in front of me wasn't helping with that either.

One hundred meters beyond the road stood three tiny houses clustered around a well. Small arms fire had chipped away at the mortar siding of the building on the far right. From what we'd gathered, the enemy had used it as a firing point. A troop transport from the 112th Infantry Division had been ambushed passing by. Without cover, three of them had been killed in the attack. They had a tank with them, but couldn't use its main gun for fear of destroying the houses. Three men had died so that shit-stack of mortar and brick they called a building could stand.

"Hey." Sergeant Coren's hand fell on my shoulder. The impact knocked me out of my trance. "Look sharp, Milton."

"Yeah," I muttered. Shaking my head, I fell in step behind her. Juno was our Platoon Sergeant. She hadn't seemed cut out for the military when the Squad first came together – she was too pretty, and far too gentle – but by the time we'd shipped out for Kloden I knew that if there was any non-commissioned officer in Squad 7 who would stick her neck out for me it was her.

"Are you doing alright?" she asked me as we stepped off of the road. "I don't think I've ever seen you shaken like that."

"I'm fine," I said. I felt like throwing up. "Just don't like what I'm seeing here."

My boots sank into the mud as we walked to the buildings. They called Barious a desert, but that wasn't technically right. Nobody knew what to call it for sure. Wasteland probably fit best. Hell could have been a close second. "Would it help if you shut your eyes?" she asked.

"It just might," I said. There were times when I forgot she was younger than I was. She certainly acted older than me.

"Well then at least let me point you in the right direction before you start pulling your trigger," she said with a laugh. Juno had toughened up over the past few months, but her laugh was still as light as the day she'd walked into the barracks. "I get what you're saying though," she continued. "I don't like it either."

Up close the buildings looked even more rundown than they had from the road. I couldn't imagine they'd looked welcoming even when they'd first been built. Their stone siding was crumbling away, and dozens of bullet holes had imprinted themselves in the outer wall. "They were fighting rifle to rifle?" I asked.

"That's right," Juno said.

The tank was still parked on the road, and sat behind what was left of the transport truck. Most of the transport vehicle's frame was still intact, but the engine compartment had been blown out, and the large canvass flap that covered the bed was riddled with holes. The tank's unused main gun was still aimed at the hamlet. "Fuck that," I said.

Juno nodded. "Took the words right out of my mouth."

I hadn't – Juno never swore. The sentiment translated well though.

"It gets better," she continued as she stepped through the building's door. "Come check it out."

The inside of the building wasn't in much better shape than the outside. The interior walls were made of the same mortar as the exterior, and while the floor was covered with rugs it felt like cement. It was dark. There wasn't any electricity running through the area. The only light came from oil lamps and candles placed throughout the rooms. It reminded me of when I was a kid. Our family hadn't had access to electricity until I was ten.

Juno led me up to the second story. I'd have trusted her through anything the Imps could have thrown our way, but I had to question her judgment when we reached the top of the stairs. 'It gets better' would not have been how I would have described the scene.

There were two people waiting in the room we entered. They were both from my own section – Wavy, my section leader, and Freesia, who was kneeling next to the window. The room itself was in worse condition than the rest of the house. The bullet holes that had decorated the outside of the building had also left their mark on the back wall. Rain poured into the room. It splattered and pooled on the floor below the window frame. The rain wasn't the only liquid on the floor. Blood. Most of it had soaked into the wooden floorboards or mixed in with the rainwater drenching the ground, but the dark stains it left behind were unmistakable.

"This was the firing point," Juno said. She let one of her gloved fingers probe a bullet hole in the wall. "One of them was waiting outside with a Lance round. After he immobilized the truck his buddies opened fire."

There wasn't anything to take cover behind between the hamlet and the road. After first contact it would have been a scramble to get behind the tank or one of the truck's wheel wells, and after that would have come the firefight. Three of them hadn't made it. "There's no body," I said, looking around the room.

"Nope," Juno said. "It was a quick ambush. Hit and run. The fight lasted about ten minutes before they packed up and left. Took everything with them. Casualty included."

I couldn't imagine where they had run to. For the most part I didn't care. The question tearing through my head wasn't where the shooters had gone, but who they had been. Intelligence placed the closest Imperial unit nearly seventy miles to the North. "So who did it?" I asked.

"Here," Freesia said. With a light toss she threw something across the room to me. In the dim light it was difficult to see, and it bounced off of my chest before falling into my hand. "Take a look at that."

It was an empty casing. I rolled it around in my palm before flipping it over and checking the rim. I'd seen many like it before. '.30-06' was etched into the bottom, with the letters 'GA' engraved at the top. It stood for 'Gallian Arms', the company that manufactured Gallia's military load cartridges. They were restricted for anyone but military personnel. "Did you pick this up from the road?" I asked.

Freesia shook her head. "Here by the window."

The floor of the room was littered with shells like the one in my hand. Whoever was shooting had been well supplied. Looking at the markings on the casing made my head spin. The lettering brought more questions with it than real answers. It was like reading those old Yggdist texts my father made me wade through when I was a kid. "You're saying it was friendly fire?"

Nobody spoke. Freesia's eyes were glued to the floor. She looked more uncomfortable than I ever remembered seeing her. "Not exactly," she said, finally breaking the silence.

"There's a settlement about five klicks east of here," Wavy said. The words seemed to come reluctantly, like he was choosing them carefully before he spoke. He was watching Freesia out of the corner of his eye. "It's a Romani village."

Freesia and I had been a part of Squad 7 since it formed the December before the war began, and we always made sure to look out for one another. We had a system. When we hit the bars back in Randgriz we always walked in together. Guys watching felt like they were bigger men if they could steal her away from me, and when women saw me with a lady they figured that if one woman could stand me I couldn't have been all that bad. We made great wingmen, and everyone went home happy. Frees was my best friend in the Squad. She was also Romani.

Ignoring Freesia, Juno walked towards the window. "We're not positive they came from the village," she said, "but there isn't anywhere else they could have gone from here." She glanced towards Freesia, who still looked as if the world had ceased turning. "Whatever the case, that's where we're headed."

I was torn between the two women in the room. It was difficult trying to focus on Juno's words while Freesia was having the floor ripped out from under her. My first thought was that I should have said something to her. That faded when I looked around the room. Frees was my best friend, but she was also extremely independent. She wouldn't have forgiven me for pitying her in front of Juno or Wavy. "They're sending us?" I asked Juno.

She nodded. "We're the closest unit at full strength."

Juno was a master at putting things delicately. What she meant was that we didn't have three bodies to take care of. "Where'd the shooters get the weapons?" I asked. "They had a Lance round and military rifle cartridges. Aren't those regulated by the government?"

"Do you want the official story," Juno asked, "or the scuttlebutt?"

"Just lay it on me," I said. That meant the scuttlebutt. It only took me through our third day in Vassel to realize the official story was always bullshit.

"They were a gift from Damon."

Juno's words made as much sense to me as Cherry's did when she told me she thought she was 'heavy'. "I'm sorry," I said. "What?"

"Barious is loaded with Ragnite, right?"

That figured. Everything boiled down to Ragnite. The war, sure, but even before then my life had been defined by the wonder ore everybody was so ready to kill for. Even in times of peace its price was still paid in blood. Nobody cares when a father is killed in a mine collapse if profits are still on the rise. "Yeah," I said. Before he died, Dad had spent a year working a mine in the region.

"Well," Juno said, "the Army is spread thin trying to hold the northern front, and the Militia is doing everything it can to fortify the few cities we have left. Besides us, that doesn't leave much of a force to defend Barious."

The Empire could have taken the Hellhole for all I cared. There wasn't a single thing I liked about the place. As far as I was concerned, Freesia was the only worthwhile resource the region had ever produced – Ragnite be damned. "So we gave the locals weapons?"

"That's the story," Juno said. "Randgriz figured our enemy's enemies were our friends. Turns out they aren't."

Anybody who had been through a basic Gallian history class could have told them that. The Romani hadn't settled in Barious by choice. They'd been driven there over the past two-hundred years by a series of pogroms. Many of them didn't even consider themselves Gallian anymore. I didn't blame them. "And now they're killing us with our own weapons. That figures."

Juno merely shrugged. Freesia, who had been kneeling since I walked into the room, finally stood. It had to have been a difficult conversation to listen in on. "We're not all like that," she said. Her words were addressed to everyone, but she was looking at me.

"I know," I said. Freesia wasn't one to take things too personally. Every so often, though, something would strike a chord in her, and when it did it hit her deep. I could already tell this one had struck hard. With one ambush, Barious had turned into be a balancing act of doing my duty as a Militiaman and doing my duty as Frees's friend. I had a feeling they were going to be mutually exclusive. "So what are we going to do?" I asked.

"We're taking the weapons back," Juno said. "Stark's gathering the platoon outside. I'll be giving a briefing in five. In the meantime I need to contact the Lieutenant. Wavy, make sure your Section is in order and ready to move."

Wavy gave a slight nod as Juno walked out of the room. It was almost imperceptible, but he gave another to Freesia before he walked out himself. Anyone else would have struggled to see it, but the movement would have been clear as day to Frees. It also meant more than anything I could have said to her. Wavy was Darcsen. His family had been through the pogroms too.

When only the two of us were left in the room, I walked over to Freesia and put my hand on her shoulder. "How's it going?" I asked.

"It's fine," she said, flashing a smile that told me it wasn't.

Freesia could melt hearts with her smile. I'd seen it done enough to know that if I didn't consciously guard myself against it I would end up a puddle on the floor. "Alright," I said. Calling her bluff would have sent her into a fury. Trying to comfort Frees was like walking through a minefield, but I had to risk at least one step. "You got anything you want to say, I'm free."

When her arm rose I thought she was going to slap me. Instead, her hand came down on my bicep. "Yeah," she said, giving a squeeze. "I know."

I couldn't follow her when she walked out. She would have seen it as stepping on her toes. I wondered what it would have been like to wake up next to her in the morning – how long it would have been before she kicked me out of the bed. Sighing, I walked to the window. The rain still poured in.

* * *

Juno's briefing ran longer than usual, but before I knew it we were marching. I couldn't concentrate. My mind was stuck somewhere between the body bags that had been lying on the side of the road and the extensive list of restrictions Juno had laid out when she'd addressed the platoon. No firing unless fired upon first. No explosives within one-hundred meters of any civilian structure. The Edelweiss was just above useless. Its armor plating still made for great cover, and the .30 caliber machinegun mounted on the cupola could still throw a lot of lead downrange, but the main gun had been muzzled. It was a Goddamn crime. If we were going to be doing any fighting, it was going to be rifle to rifle.

Having the Edelweiss around was still comforting though. Even if it was effectively crippled, the tank wasn't completely useless offensively. As soon as he arrived, Welkin put Walter Nash behind the Edelweiss's .30, with Jann Walker riding shotgun on the vehicle's armor plating. Jann told me that it was to establish dominance – to show we were the alpha male. Looking at the two behemoths riding the tank it would have been difficult to argue otherwise. Given the choice, though, I'd have done things differently. In the space the two muscle men took up, I could have fit Freesia, Ramona, Catherine, and Edy. Wrap that up in a nice bow and put a Cherry on top, and not a man alive could have fired on that tank. Not even Jann.

I was glad to have them up there when we reached the village. The rain left a haze hanging in the air, and the settlement was surrounded by the only trees I'd seen in Barious. They lined a series of aqueducts flowing into the crossroads. I was on point, and I didn't see the men step out until they were nearly on top of us. There were five of them blocking the narrow dirt road into the village. All of them were armed, and their guns were aimed at me.

My first instinct was to raise my Mags. The closest man was in my sight picture before I realized it was wrong – and not just because Juno had given us orders not to open fire. I'd been through Vasel and Kloden with the Squad. That was five days of intense urban combat, followed by two weeks out in the forests. I hadn't shot anybody through any of it.

The man I was aiming at was wearing a white button down shirt and a pair of blue jeans. It didn't look much different than what many civilians wore throughout the rest of Gallia. The only difference was his skin, which had the same dark tone as Freesia's. "Gallian Militia!" I yelled. "We're friendly! Drop your weapons!"

My bid for peace felt insincere while I was pointing a gun at the men I was addressing. They didn't believe it either. I could see into the bore of the man's rifle. Not one of them had lowered their aim. I didn't know if I was cleared to open fire. Juno had told us that we were still allowed to take down any threat. She'd also told us we weren't allowed to fire unless fired upon first. I wasn't sure which of the two took priority.

Edy was next to me in an instant. Her weapon was raised as well. "Hey!" she yelled when the men didn't move. "We said drop your weapons! Drop them now or we'll open fire!"

I saw a few of the men share a quick glance out of the corner of my eye. The man I had zeroed in on didn't budge. Boots trampled the dirt behind me. Even with an entire platoon at my back he was going to fight. He was ready to kill.

My thumb pressed against my Mags's safety catch, and I could feel it digging into my skin through the glove. I already had my finger on the trigger. No matter how hard I pressed though, I wasn't strong enough to disengage the safety. I was terrified of dying – of ending up in a body bag lying on the side of a road. I was even more afraid of shooting the man. It wasn't rational, and I knew it. I'd seen enough combat to realize I wasn't going to make it home if I didn't fight to kill.

I had finally mustered the courage to disengage my safety when Freesia ran across my field of fire, and I nearly toppled over when her frame crossed into my sight picture. I was already putting three and a half pounds of pressure on a four pound trigger pull. If I had been squeezing any harder she would have been dead. "Atch!" she yelled, waving her arms.

When the men lowered their rifles, I risked taking my eyes off of them for a split second to shoot Edy a glance. She hadn't lowered her Mags, but she looked just as confused as me. Freesia was still shouting. I couldn't understand a word of what she was saying.

Edy's boots sloshed in the mud as she sidestepped closer to me. "What on Earth does that girl think she's doing?" she asked when she was nearly standing on my toes.

Frees had stopped waving her arms, but she was still yelling at the men in her strange language. Running forward in front of a firing squad was stupid. Running between two was beyond that. "I have no idea," I said.

"I almost shot her." Edy's low growl was surprisingly intimidating.

"Yeah, me too."

Another set of footsteps approached from behind, and a second later I felt Juno's hand pat me on the shoulder before she ran past. She at least still had the sense to let me know before she stepped into my line of fire. "Hey," Edy said when Juno began talking with Freesia. "Should we lower our weapons?"

Freesia was acting as a translator for Juno. I couldn't hear what they were saying to one another. "No," I said, remembering the Lieutenant's order to put Walter and Jann on the Edelweiss. The firefight seemed to have been averted, but we still had a mission to complete. That meant showing them we had power. "Just look tough," I continued, reengaging the safety.

Juno and Freesia spoke with the men for another five minutes, with Juno relaying the conversation back to Lieutenant Gunther through a radio. Four of the five men who had stopped us had relaxed. The one I had aimed down still looked like trouble though. He wasn't paying attention to the conversation they were having – he was glaring at me.

The man didn't look older than twenty, and he was easily the youngest of them. None of the men looked happy about our showing up, but the others didn't look angry. If anything they looked worried.

When their conversation ended and the men finally departed, Juno spoke to her section leaders and gave the call for us to assemble back into our units. I didn't get a chance to ask Freesia about the encounter before Wavy called us to order. "Here's the deal," he said. He'd been a teacher before the war. It was easy to see when he was addressing the section. "The village is just ahead. We're following Sergeant Coren in. Once we clear the place for Lance rounds the Lieutenant will move the Edelweiss in and we'll start our search. We're looking for restricted weapons and ammunition. We can't confiscate anything else, so don't bother grabbing any other weapons you find."

Edy and I shared another quick glance. Legal or not, I didn't want anyone pointing another rifle at me. "Even after they nearly gunned us down?" I asked. "Doesn't that seem a bit lenient? They can kill us with standard loads just as easily as they can restricted ones."

There were a couple of nods from the rest of the unit. Even Musaad gave a quick shake of his head. "Every town has the right to a town watch," Wavy said. "These guys are no different."

"Yeah," Edy said, "but they don't even consider themselves Gallian."

"We do." Wavy adjusted his glasses as if that settled the matter. I had a teacher back in high school who did the same thing. Whenever the glasses shifted it meant the dispute was finished, and he'd won. "York," Wavy continued, "you're acting translator. Everyone else, teams of two. And remember, these people aren't Imperials. I don't want to have to tag any bodies today – ours or theirs. Get it done."

I watched Freesia break off from the rest of the group and walk over to where the Lieutenant had parked the Edelweiss. She was the expert on body language, not me, but it didn't take a master to tell that she wasn't happy with the way our mission was turning out. Her shoulders were sunk so low I was afraid they were going to drop off. I was about to run off and check on her when I felt someone's fist slam into the back of my shoulder. I didn't have to look to know that it was Edy. "Everything dandy?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said as Freesia disappeared behind the tank. Out of sight, out of mind. At least, I tried to think like that. It never worked.

"Well, quit putzing around then."

The village itself was another five-hundred meters from where their town watch had stopped us. It was small, but it was still large enough that it would take the Squad a couple of hours to search. There were twenty-six buildings, and it was home to just over seventy people. That was seventy too many. With Imperials I knew who wanted to kill me. The men who had stopped us before looked like ordinary citizens.

Edy and I followed Wavy to the edge of town. Before we entered the village, Sergeant Coren stopped us and contacted First Sergeant Melchiott on the radio. I could see Alicia with Staff Sergeant O'Hara preparing their entrance from the other side of the village. O'Hara's 2nd Platoon was a support unit – she supervised Corporal Linton's weapon's section. That left most of their platoon supporting the Squad's .30 instead of running searches, but if it meant having the machinegun providing overwatch over half the town while we went door to door I was happy to do the extra work.

When we finally advanced down the road, I couldn't help but think about how similar the buildings in the village were to the ones I'd seen earlier. The buildings in town didn't have bullet holes decorating their façades, but they weren't in much better condition. At least they were dry inside. While storming buildings wasn't my idea of a perfect day, I was looking forward to getting out of the rain.

The streets were mostly empty, which made clearing the way in easy. After we'd checked the main road and cleared the first few buildings along the route, Welkin rolled the tank into the village. Walter looked like a madman behind the mounted .30. Putting him up there had been the right decision.

For the next hour the search went off without a hitch. We were the targets of dirty looks and foreign curses from the residents, but with the Edelweiss sitting in the town's southern entrance and Ramona's machinegun section holding the fort in the north, nobody gave us any real trouble. A couple of kids banded together at one point to throw some rocks at the tank, but when Walter shot them a scowl they scattered like a bunch of packrats. The man I'd stared down with the town watch was nowhere to be seen.

The third and final building we were tasked to search was just like any other in the village. Edy gave the door a knock, and we waited for an answer. When nobody came, she slammed her fist into the wood near the frame. "Open the door!" she screamed. "Militia! Let us in or we'll ram it down!"

I was glad Edy was my clearing partner. She was a tough woman and pretty easy going once you got used to her style. It was difficult to tell while she was wearing the Militia utilities, but she also had a great ass. The only thing I had to watch out for was her singing – the girl was tone-deaf. Her voice did come in handy when trying to get people to follow orders, though, and before she could give the door another hit it slid open.

The woman who answered looked to be in her fifties, and strands of grey stood out in her black hair. She was scared witless. It was probably a natural reaction after the beating Edy had given her front door, but I gripped my Mags a little tighter anyway. The woman was babbling in her language, and made motions like she was trying to shoo us away.

"Av abri," I said. "Kanav." Freesia had given us a few words to work with to make dealing with the locals easier. Of course, I hadn't gotten the words from her – Frees had been running back and forth across town giving translations for the better part of the day since we'd entered town, and she made a point not to make eye contact with me whenever she passed. They'd been relayed to us by Musaad. He told us they meant 'come out'.

The woman didn't step out immediately, but after Edy gave the doorframe another light smack she stumbled forward. Two little boys followed her through the entryway. "Keep an eye on them," I told Edy. Turning towards the woman, I asked her if there was anybody else inside. I didn't know how to say it in her language, so I asked in Gallian. Either she didn't understand, or she pretended not to.

I gave one final shout into the building before stepping in. Nobody responded. The woman's hesitation had me on edge. She clearly didn't want us going inside her house. I wouldn't have wanted armed men walking through my front door either, but her fear seemed to go beyond that.

When I stepped up to the third door on the first floor I found out why. It was locked. Before I could leave to get the key I heard a cough from the other side.

My Mags was raised and aimed before it stopped. "Open up!" I yelled, keeping my weapon steady with one hand and pounding on the door with the other. Edy stepped into place next to me. I could tell by the way she was gritting her teeth that she wasn't looking to talk. "Come on, let's go!" I yelled again. My adrenaline was surging. I could already feel the shakes setting in, and I couldn't remember any of the words Freesia had given us. I improvised. "Open the fucking door!"

It took Edy's boot to get it open. I stepped in first as the doorframe splintered and the door swung on its hinges. The room was small, with only enough space for a bed and a small chair. Both were occupied.

The man in the bed was unconscious. There were bloody bandages strewn throughout the room, and a few of them lay on the bed. I couldn't see where he was injured under the blanket that covered him, but I could tell he wasn't going to survive on the care he was getting.

After clearing the man, I turned towards the woman Edy had pinned to the floor. She was young – no older than twenty. Her dark hair was cut at the shoulders, and she could have easily passed as Freesia's cousin. The woman had been acting as a nurse for the man in the bed. It hurt to see Edy strong-arming her down on the ground. "Let her up," I said.

Edy shot me a look that told me I was thinking with the wrong head. I wasn't. The nurse looked like Freesia, but as I helped her to her feet, all I could think about was how much she reminded me of my little sister, Clair. They looked about the same age. Clair was working in a hospital just outside of Vassel as well. I had taken the job working down in the mines to help pay her way through medical school, and when that didn't cover the bills I joined the Militia. Being a doctor was keeping her off of the front lines. If I was grateful for one thing in the world it was that.

"Hey Edy," I said, guiding the Romani nurse back into her chair. "I'll cover everything here. Go report what we've found and call for a medic."

Edy glared again. She had never been able to hide her anger. "You do realize this is probably the guy that got shot ambushing that Army convoy, right?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"And you want me to bring him a medic?"

I'd gotten the nurse back into her seat, but she hadn't gotten over the shock of our entrance. "Yeah," I said.

For a few seconds nobody moved. Then, Edy shook her head and walked out. "If he turns out to be the guy, I'll be furious," she said through a clenched jaw as she disappeared around the frame.

It was a crappy deal, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. The man in the bed was probably one of the triggermen. As far as we were concerned, though, he was still a Gallian citizen, insurgent or not.

I tried talking to the nurse. It was a one way conversation. Even if she could have understood me, she wasn't talking. After a few minutes of rejection, I gave up and started searching the room. The place was mostly empty except for a stash of bandages and a couple of extra blankets. I'd nearly called it quits when I saw the sleeve of the man's jacket sticking out from between a set of spare sheets.

The nurse didn't react when I pulled it out. I was glad – it meant that she hadn't hidden it. There was a rifle round inside the breast pocket. The Gallian Arms signature was stamped on its rim.

Edy came back a few minutes later with Freesia, Fina, Juno, and Lieutenant Gunther. I passed off the bullet before excusing myself. I wanted to talk to Freesia, but she had her hands full interrogating the nurse, and I didn't want to distract her.

The rain was pouring outside, but my poncho kept me dry. It was still miserable. I had nowhere to go, so I stood guard next to the front door. It was mind numbing, but that was exactly what I needed.

Edy walked out with Juno and the Lieutenant about half an hour later. Freesia wasn't far behind them. I stopped her as she walked past. "What was that about?" I asked.

"Hunting accident," she said. After she'd been avoiding me I wasn't expecting her to want to stick around, but to my surprise she rested her back against the wall next to me. "At least, that's their story."

"You believe them?"

Freesia shrugged. "It's possible," she said, "but that bullet you found doesn't help their case. Whatever happened, they've got the weapons we're looking for somewhere around here. I don't see why they wouldn't comply if they hadn't shot up that transport."

"I guess so." Fina was still inside treating the man. I didn't care what happened to him, but I was still worried about the woman. If she was involved she would have been put up for treason. Suddenly I was imagining my sister standing in front of a firing squad. I had to shake the thought from my mind. "Hey, Frees," I said, looking to change the subject, "what was that language you were speaking?"

I was surprised again when she chuckled. "It's a pidgin," she said. "Just a trade language." Although she'd been laughing, she sounded embarrassed. "It can't convey a whole lot, but it gets the job done."

Nodding, I wiped away a small puddle of rain that had pooled up in my hood. "Why did you start avoiding me after you started speaking it?"

She laughed again. It was a guilty laugh. "Don't be so full of yourself," she said, hitting me on the arm. "I wasn't exactly avoiding you."

We'd both been busy since being stopped by the town watch – her especially. Still, when my friends wouldn't even look in my direction I took notice. "Maybe not, but you were keeping your distance."

"Yeah," she admitted.

"So?"

Freesia crossed her arms and let out a breath. "I've gotten a lot of shit for who I am, you know? I didn't want to hear it from you."

"And you think I would have given it to you?"

"I don't know," she said. Freesia wasn't just my best friend in the Squad. In the past few months she'd become my best friend period. I wouldn't have given her shit about anything. I also knew that wasn't what she'd meant. She didn't want to hear me talking about the villagers. I didn't know if I could promise her that.

"Anyway," she continued as she pushed herself off of the wall, "you might as well get comfortable. The Lieutenant was talking to the Captain on the radio in there. We're going to be sticking around for a while." With a wink and a wave, she walked away.

I waited until she was out of earshot before I groaned.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

From primary school on, every Gallian learns the ins and outs of the military. It's not enough to turn a man into a soldier, but it gives him all of the knowledge he'd need. Knowing doesn't make a man a killer, though. That's what boot was for.

I spent the three years before my enlistment working down in the mines. Every day I took the elevator down into the seam wondering if I'd still be around to take the ride back up. My father probably had similar thoughts on his final trip down. There were never any serious accidents during my tenure, but to me the mine was Hell. It wasn't fire and brimstone, but it was as cold, cramped, and lonely as I could imagine a place being. If Hell is distance from God, I knew the mine was the very center of it. That was before boot.

The first week and a half of the training was all physical. It was rough, but it wasn't difficult. Working in the mines was heavy labor, and I was in good shape. The days flew past. It was on the eleventh day that everything changed. Instead of marching the training platoon onto the parade grounds at the crack of dawn for morning PT, the drill instructors let us sleep in. At ten, we were led into a small assembly room. It was empty except for a projector behind the seats and a screen hanging on the front wall. When we sat, the drill instructors left. Nothing happened for twenty minutes. Then, just as I decided they'd forgotten about us, the senior drill instructor walked in.

His name was Gunnery Sergeant Taylor, but we called him Gramps behind his back. He had to have been at least sixty, and he always wore a smile that reminded me of my grandfather's. Taylor wasn't smiling when he walked into the assembly room. Without speaking, he turned off the lights and started the projector.

The first picture was of a man in an Atlantic Federation uniform sitting in the driver's seat of a half-track. His head had mushroomed out at the jaw-line. It looked like a blooming flower, except the petals were made of meat, bone, and an occasional tuft of hair. Blood soaked the front of his uniform, and it drained down onto his lap before pooling on the seat. The room turned silent. Only the drone of the projector continued. Fifteen seconds after the first slide hit the screen, the projector jumped to the second.

The show lasted an hour and forty minutes. After running through the last slide, Taylor turned the projector off and hit the lights. We never called him Gramps again. "The East Europan Imperial Alliance is going to invade," he said. "Some of you will die. More of you will kill. All of you will see combat. You better not be feeling much." Then he left.

That lesson stuck with me, but I knew it was a lesson I had never learned. I always felt. Every time. The moment my Mags's stock pressed into my shoulder and a man's silhouette entered my sights, the images from the projection screen flashed through my head. The pictures were supposed to desensitize people. That's all boot really was—there wasn't anything left to actually learn. It was meant to break people down to nothing and build them back up from there. Make them ready to kill. For most people it worked. The first confirmed kill I'd ever seen was credited to a sixteen year old girl. I still hadn't done it.

"Hey, Casanova!" Edy's berating pulled me out of my trance. "You going to call or what?"

We were sitting on the floor of an empty room. Rain was still pattering against the window. Nils and Theold were there, too, and they were all looking at me. I glanced down at the card I'd pulled. The suicide king. The picture on its face was what had brought my mind back to boot. It was a losing draw in every sense imaginable. "Fold."

Edy and Theold groaned, but Nils smiled and raked in the packs of cigarettes we'd been betting with. He had a pile of them in front of him. "Another hand?" he asked. "Maybe start playing with chocolate?"

"I'm done," Theold said. "Fuckin' cheater."

Nils shrugged and turned our way. "Milton? Nelson?"

Edy rolled her eyes. She was frustrated, and on top of that she hated Nils. I didn't like him much either, but I just shook my head. "You've bled me dry."

"And I enjoyed every minute of it." He made a show of pulling out one of the cigarettes, and held it in his mouth a few moments before lighting it. "You all have a good night."

I glanced out the window while Nils waddled to his own little corner of the room. The rain wasn't pouring like it had been when we arrived in the village, but the constant drizzle was numbing. I wasn't the only one feeling down. "This is great," Theold said, gesturing towards the window. "Three days of this shit, and now we're out of smokes." He pointed at me. "I blame you, Salinas."

"How is it my fault?" I asked. "You didn't have to play."

"You folded on the last hand," Edy said. "You might as well have just said, 'Oh, here Nils! I just woke up from a daydream, why don't you have all of our cigarettes? No, go ahead, I insist!' Were you thinking at all?"

The suicide king was still in my hand. I flipped it over a few times before tossing it to the floor. "Too much."

"But not about poker." She tried to hide it with a sigh, but I could see her smile. Theold wasn't smiling, though, and he stormed off for the corner opposite of Nils's. "I swear," Edy continued after he left, "you really are a dreamer."

"You know me." I rested my hands behind my head. She couldn't hold it anymore, and laughed. I couldn't tell her most of my dreams were of bodies. More than anything I didn't want to say it myself, regardless of whether or not anybody was listening. "Always looking beyond the horizon."

"And spouting one cliché after another." Edy pulled her notebook from her bag. She wrote song lyrics in her spare time. They were great. If she ever swallowed her pride and sold her lyrics instead of trying to sing them herself, she would have made a comfortable living. "How you manage to lure women into your bunk is beyond me."

"Well, first I—"

"No, stop!" Edy held out her palm. "I really don't want to know."

I was counting on her cutting me off. She wouldn't have been happy if she found out I was stealing her lines. "I understand. You want to find out first hand."

Her boot cut me off that time. "Go back to dreaming, boy." She didn't look up from her book. "I'll catch you in the morning."

"Yeah," I said, rubbing my thigh. "Sure thing."

I slunk over to my own corner. Theold was already crashing, and I assumed Nils would do the same when he finished his cigarette. Edy was the only one who seemed intent on staying awake. I couldn't blame her—I didn't want to dream either. I wondered what she saw when she closed her eyes. Stages and lights? Or maybe we weren't so different. She was stubborn, though. She'd fight it until she couldn't keep her eyes open. Turning away, I rested my head on my ruck and shut my eyes.

I was back in boot.

* * *

I dreaded sleep, but morning came sooner than I'd hoped. Once again, I felt a boot prodding my thigh. "Fuck, Edy," I said, throwing my arm over my eyes. "Ten more minutes."

"I already gave you an extra ten," a voice said. It wasn't Edy's.

Juno was standing above me. Her rifle was slung over her shoulder, and her arms were crossed. I scrambled to my feet. "Sergeant! Sorry, I just…."

I wasn't often caught flustered. She relished it. "Sleep well?"

I hadn't. "Like the angels."

She gave a curt nod. "Good. Then grab your gear. We're moving out."

Through the window I could tell the sun had risen, but the weather hadn't changed. Streaks of rain cascaded down the glass. "You mean we're leaving?"

"Not exactly," she said. "We're just…" Her hand moved to her hip. She was looking out the window, too. "Just grab your gear."

From the sound of it, we'd be spending at least another day in the area. Nobody was sure how long we were going to be there. Everybody was ready to leave. I didn't complain to Juno, though, and after I gathered my equipment I followed her through the door.

Most of the platoon was already waiting in the street outside. Juno hadn't given anybody else the courtesy of the extra ten minutes sleep. Edy shot me a wink as I stepped into the road, and I guessed she had asked Juno to give me some extra time before waking me up. I'd have to tell her not to do it again. I didn't want to be the one singled out for it, and from what I saw, I wasn't the one who needed the rest—Freesia was.

Freesia was standing in the middle of the street looking over a map with Lieutenant Gunther. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. Probably hadn't. While the rest of Squad 7 was taking turns on guard or patrolling the streets, Freesia was our only real form of communication with the locals. It was a round-the-clock duty. I'd seen her running from one end of the village to the other at ungodly hours, and even when she wasn't on the move, the Lieutenant was bringing people to her. It seemed like she was talking to everybody. Except me, of course. We hadn't spoken since I found the bullet in that villager's jacket.

I was determined to change that. When she folded the map and broke off from the Lieutenant, I made sure we crossed paths. She seemed just as determined to pass me by. "Hey Frees," I said before she could escape. "What's going on?"

She didn't stop. All she gave was a glance. "Not now," she said. "I'm kind of busy."

I had suspected something was wrong before, but now I knew. "Hey!" I grabbed her by the arm as she walked past. She spun, and we faced each other for the first time in three days. "Have you been sleeping?"

"I can hang," she said. Then she wrenched her arm away. "And I don't need any special favors."

The declaration was sharp. I cursed Edy for her concern, and Juno for granting it. They were looking out for me. I appreciated that, but I also felt like I was twelve. Did I really look that soft?

I didn't have time to come to an answer. After a few words with Juno, Freesia moved to the side. "We're headed out of the village on patrol," Juno said. "A local reported that whoever fired on that convoy earlier this week is keeping a weapons cache near the wadi east of town. Our job is to clear it. We'll move along an irrigation ditch a few hundred meters south of the wadi and close in from there."

Freesia looked disinterested. I knew she didn't want to hear the question come from me, but the report came from a local. I had to ask. "Ambush?"

Freesia didn't react. Juno shrugged. "Ambush or not, it checks out on our maps. We'd have to clear it either way." She motioned for Wavy and Rosie to form their sections. "Just keep your eyes open. We'll take it slow and safe."

Everyone save Freesia fell into their standard formation. She stayed with Juno. It made sense since she was our guide and translator, but it felt like a manifestation of the gap that had grown between us. She'd helped me keep my footing since the war started, and even if we were walking into a firefight I wanted to hold onto something that felt normal. Then again, nothing about our mission was typical. I pushed it from my mind as we left the village.

The irrigation ditch brought us out of the town's southern exit, then swung north before finally settling east. I woke up knowing that I was going to work in the rain, but my poncho did a good job of keeping me dry. It was comfortable enough. As soon as I saw the ditch, I knew that was going to change. The water leveled off at my knees, and soaked into my boots. Everything felt heavier. The mud at the channel's bottom made every step a struggle.

It wasn't all bad, though. Everything I'd seen of Barious had been wasteland. The ditch was alive. Shrubs and brush grew along its edges, and by the time we'd made it two klicks out of town they were all over. There were even flowers. I heard Jane call them Desert Lilies. They were white with six thin petals, and they were beautiful. Flowers had never been my thing, but I was amazed to see anything that could catch my eye in the desert. I thought we'd sucked it dry when we got Freesia. It was comforting. Sloshing through the water, I bent over and picked one off at the stem.

I had just finished tucking it into my lapel when I heard the first pop. Two more sounded before a clump of dirt shot off the top of the embankment and I dropped to the ground. I fell against the side of the ditch. Water was up to my waist. I barely noticed. With the cracks of a Gallian battle rifle ringing in my ears, I climbed to the lip of the berm. Oscar and Edy were on my flanks. "What are we shooting at?"

Edy looked as lost as I was, but Oscar was peering through his scope. "Shack," he said, leveling his rifle. "Three-hundred meters."

The land downfield was as barren as any other part of the desert. It was mud now, but still caustic. Nothing grew. In the distance, though, there was a shack, and just beyond the shack was the closest thing I'd ever seen to an oasis. The trees were gnarled, but they stood, and the brush between them was thick. We'd found the wadi. Raising my Mags, I disengaged the safety.

I always hesitated when I saw a man in my sight picture. The firing line was different. In a firing line, I could shoot off ten-thousand rounds, walk up on a hundred bodies, and claim indemnity. So I fired.

I was halfway through my third magazine when Juno called us off. We all slid deeper into the trench, and I took the time to reload. "What's up?" I heard Alex call.

"Keep your heads low," Juno said. Hunched over, she walked down the firing line. "I'm calling in a fire mission. Radio!"

Dallas had her radio ready when Juno made it to her position. The call didn't last long. After a few transmissions, Juno let out a frustrated sigh and dropped the handset. She didn't look happy, and I wasn't the only one who noticed. "When can we expect those shells?" Wavy asked.

Juno took a moment to wipe some mud off of her glasses. Then she fell back against the berm. "They aren't coming."

I saw Alex's head pop out over Edy's shoulder. "What do you mean they're not coming?"

"There aren't any batteries within sixty klicks. They need them up on the front lines."

"Oh, yeah." Alex's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Where they're needed. Where it's important." He threw his hands in the air. "Then what the fuck are we doing here?"

It was a good question. I was thinking it myself, and I doubted Alex and I were the only ones. Juno didn't give us an answer. Instead, she called out to Jann. "Hey Walker, you think you could hit them with your Lancaar?"

Jann peeked over the top of the ditch. He looked like he debated with himself for a moment before dropping back down. "I can hit it," he said. "It's far, but I can make it happen." He didn't ready his lance. "I thought direct fire was out on civilian structures."

After grabbing her binoculars, Juno took another look. "Does it look residential to you?"

"No."

"Level it." She switched her binoculars out for her rifle. "If anyone throws a fit, I'll take the heat."

Jann ran his fingers across one of the shrubs above. It looked brittle. "I don't know if we can fire through this brush."

The foliage wouldn't stop a lance round, but it was a long shot. If he was going to make it he was going to need a good firing position. The ditch wasn't it. "Take it up and over then. We'll give suppressing fire. If you're nearby when Walker takes the shot, make sure you watch for the backblast." She lowered her voice a touch, but she was close enough that I could still hear her. "Still think you can do it, Jann?"

He smirked. "Only for you, honey."

When Juno gave the order we opened fire. For a few seconds I could see muzzle smoke from their position, but with an entire platoon's worth of guns lighting them up, it died away. The walls of the shack chipped and fragmented. It almost looked like the small arms fire would be enough to topple it. It wasn't.

Jann jumped out of the trench, and Nils followed. They took a knee a few meters downfield. While Jann steadied the Lancaar on his shoulder, Nils loaded a round. When the weapon was armed, he shuffled to the side and waved the rest of the platoon down. "Clear the back!"

Everyone behind them ducked below the berm. Some of them repeated the call. I was in the safe zone, so I kept shooting. What would I have seen if I could have looked out of the shack's window? A barren stretch of mud ending in a line of muzzle flashes? With the brush surrounding the ditch there was no way the men in the shack could see our faces. They were shooting at flashes of light in the scrub, just as we were shooting at plumes of smoke in a shanty. I liked the sound of it. Everything seemed less personal that way.

The ground shook when Jann fired. His round hit the building just left of the doorway. It probably didn't matter where it hit. When the walls buckled out, the roof collapsed straight down. If the explosion hadn't killed the men inside the structural damage did.

As the smoke from the backblast wafted across the field, I saw Jann pat Nils on the back. Nils shrugged him off, but he was smiling. Cheers erupted down the line—everything from a simple 'oorah!' to a 'take that!' and a 'fuck yeah!' I realized I was smiling, too.

Then I heard another pop. The dirt ahead of Jann kicked up, and he fell to the ground. "Covering fire!"

Juno's call was lost under gunfire. With the shack gone I wasn't sure what to shoot at. I picked a small section of the oasis and fired into it. When my magazine emptied I loaded another. By the time I ran through that, Nils had pulled Jann back into the trench. "Hold your fire!" Juno ordered. "Corpsman!"

Fina ran over. She'd already pulled out her medkit, but Jann waved her off. "I'm alright," he said. Blood soaked his pant leg at the calf. "Must have hit a rock or something. I just caught the ricochet. Nothing serious."

Fina nodded, but gave him a shot of Ragnaid anyway. He'd be feeling good for the rest of the patrol. "So what now?" I asked.

Juno was peering through her binoculars again. When she put them away, she looked at her watch. "We sit tight." She'd told me once that she didn't like fighting holes; they were too cramped. The ditch wasn't much better. She must have been serious. "The wadi is flooded. That makes the field between us their only route out of that cluster. We'll let them cook a bit. See what happens. We're not in a rush."

We waited in the ditch for forty minutes. Freesia was sitting next to Juno, but I knew that if I went over she'd shoo me off. Nobody was in the mood to talk anyway. I spent the time watching the ripples the rain made in the water that had pooled in the ditch. The sound of the beads hitting the stream droned, and I lost myself in the cadence. When I found myself again, I counted the number of Desert Lily petals on the flowers nearby. Including the six from the one in my lapel, there were one-hundred and twenty. Finally, Oscar broke the silence. "They're moving."

I grabbed my Mags and looked over the berm. I couldn't believe what I saw. Six men had stepped out of the oasis. They were walking towards the village like they were strolling home from Sunday Mass. "Alright," Wavy said. "Take aim. When we get the order—"

"Hold it." Juno lifted her head above the brush to get a better view of the men through her binoculars. "They're carrying something. What are they carrying?"

They all had things in their hands, and the one on the far left had something long resting on his shoulder. "They hit that transport with a lance round," I said. "That guy looks like he's got the Lancaar."

"No," Alex said. "Too small."

Juno was desperately trying to clean her glasses. She gave up after a short struggle. "Who's got eyes on it?"

Oscar was watching the men through his scope. After waving it across the group a few times, he stood for a better view. "It's a hoe."

"A hoe?" Edy asked.

"Yeah." He lowered his rifle. "Like a garden hoe. They're carrying farm equipment."

Nobody spoke. My thumb was pressing against my Mags's safety catch. If felt heavy. Then, Juno sighed. "We can't fire."

Alex looked like he nearly toppled over. "Woah," he said, catching his balance. "What do you mean we can't fire?"

Juno was looking at her feet. She was grimacing. It wasn't something I saw very often. "They're unarmed." Her shoulders sagged. "We can't shoot."

"Bullshit! We were shooting at them less than an hour ago!"

"ROE says we can't shoot, so we don't. What more do you want me to do?"

I was glad I didn't have to kill the men. I also wanted them dead. The emotions might have been mutually exclusive, but that didn't keep me from feeling both of them. I grabbed Oscar's rifle. He protested, but I didn't pay attention. Looking through the scope, I searched for a weapon. Even if it was just a handgun, I wanted to find anything that could clear us to open fire. They had nothing. I checked them over one by one. When I got to the last—the one with the hoe—I almost fell over myself. "Hey!" Without dropping my eye from the scope, I waved Juno closer. "I know that one!"

I heard two people wading through the ditch, and knew Freesia was following her. "You recognize one of them?" Juno asked.

"The guy carrying the hoe." For the first time in my service, I knew I wouldn't have any trouble pulling the trigger. I wanted to. Even looking at him through a scope. "He was with their town watch when they stopped us entering the village." The one I'd been staring down.

"You can't know that," Nils said from down the line. "They all look the same."

Freesia growled behind me. I tried not to imagine her face. I hadn't forgotten the town watchman's face, though, and I was positive he was the man in the field. "No, that's him. He's wearing the same fuckin' shirt and everything."

Freesia's growl hit a crescendo before it ended in a huff. It was the only thing that could have made me drop the rifle. When I turned, she was glaring at me. "You know that's probably one of the only shirts he owns."

I was too taken aback to respond. Nils did that for me. "Figures the gyp's going to take their side."

"I'm not saying they're right." Her focus had shifted to Nils, but as soon the words were out she returned it to me. The expression had softened. Her eyes were bleary again. Unfocused. "That's just how it is. They don't live here by choice—they were driven here. You see what it's like outside of Barious, then hop in the truck and come back to some shit heap of a village like this…" The glare was gone. It almost sounded like she was pleading. "You can't blame them for wanting the rest of Gallia to just leave them alone."

She wanted comfort. I wanted to give it to her. After what she said, I couldn't. "They fuckin' shot Jann!"

Freesia recoiled. I expected another explosion of anger, but she didn't recover. Jann hollered from down the line. "You can't blame them for that! Bullets follow beauty!"

He laughed. Nobody else did. Before anyone could throw another word in, Juno stepped between us. "That's enough of this. I don't want to hear it now." She yelled out for the rest of the platoon. "We'll give them time to get out of here, and then we'll head over and clear the cache. Take ten. Smoke em' if you got em'." Then she left.

Freesia still wouldn't look at me. She looked like she was going to cry. The only thing I had wanted that day was to figure out what had gone wrong between us and fix it. I'd blown that. "Frees, I—"

She cut me off with her middle finger. "Fuck you."

I watched her charge away behind Juno. Edy and Oscar shared an awkward glance, and then looked away. Defeated, I slumped against the wall of the ditch. There was too much on my mind. It needed clearing.

I reached into my uniform for a pack of cigarettes. The pocket was empty. Down the line, Nils was trying to light a cigarette in the rain. When he finally got it, he made a point of blowing the smoke in my direction. He was grinning.

* * *

We didn't find any weapons. Not even empty casings. In fact, we didn't find anything. The bodies were missing, too. "We had to have killed at least one guy in that shack," Edy said, turning over some rubble with her foot.

Oscar lifted a board next to her. "They weren't carrying anybody out. No guns, either. They had to be shooting at us with something."

Everyone in the platoon was searching the oasis except Nils. He was smoking another cigarette while we worked. I'd had enough of him. I couldn't take my frustration out on that man from the town watch, and taking it out on Freesia had only made things worse. Nothing bad could have come from venting on Nils. He didn't look at me when I approached, but he spoke before I could start yelling. "The wadi."

I stopped. My confusion outweighed my anger. "What?"

"They dumped everything in the wadi before they left. Who knows how far the current will take everything before it dries?"

The irrigation ditches had collected water, but the wadi had become a river. The current looked like it could sweep away a car. "Even the bodies?"

"What else were they going to do with them?"

Images of throwing my own friends' bodies into the wadi raced through my mind. I saw myself having to toss Edy or Freesia into the current. Their bodies bobbed in the flow before being pulled under. They didn't resurface. "That's disgusting."

Nils didn't take his eyes off the wadi. Taking a last drag of his cigarette, he flicked it aside and blew the smoke towards the ground. "Is a bag any better?"

The two of us stood and watched the river. Nobody said anything. Nils's final words seemed to linger in the air. I'd been asked a lot of things that day. I didn't have any answers, and the more I thought the more I realized—I barely even knew the questions.

It was early afternoon by the time we got back to the village. The Lieutenant met us near the entrance, and Juno gave her debriefing. I wasn't surprised to hear that the men from the town watch still hadn't returned. They knew we couldn't touch them, but I doubted they wanted the extra eyes watching all the time. I wasn't surprised to hear that our informant had gone missing, either. He'd disappeared an hour or so after our patrol left. Welkin sent out a couple of fireteams to look for him, but they hadn't come up with anything.

"Don't bother wasting your time," Nils said. "You won't find him."

Welkin looked up from his map. He'd circled a number of places they still hadn't checked. "What makes you say that?"

"He's in the wadi."

"How can you know?"

"That's what I'd do with him." We all stared. When he realized, he shrugged. "I'm just saying."

We spent the rest of the day patrolling the streets. I'd been hoping that if we cleared the cache we'd be ordered to move on. Since we didn't actually find anything, we were stuck. The general consensus was that the insurgents would have fought to the death before dumping everything they had. Apparently a Lancaar was worth dying for.

The sun had set before they told us we were done for the night. Almost everybody who had gone on the patrol ran for their bunks. Jann limped. I'd bought back a pack of cigarettes from Nils though—at five times their original price—and Edy and I stood outside sharing one before heading back into the building we quartered. It was worth every ducat.

She took a drag before handing me the smoke. I took one too, and then shielded it with my poncho. The rain had picked up again by late afternoon. After sundown it was pouring. "Are you doing alright?" she asked.

Edy was confrontational unless she knew she could get away with being genuine undiscovered. She might have asked to let me sleep in, but she hadn't claimed credit for it. It wasn't like her to show her concern. "Never better," I said.

She didn't joke or play coy. "Things got pretty intense today with York, huh?"

We'd spent our day wading through knee-deep water, only to get shot at and have to watch the gunmen stroll away like nothing had happened. They'd dumped their friend's body into a river. I wanted to say that had pissed me off more than anything, but standing in the rain, it was Freesia's recoil that hurt the most. "She's just tired."

"Yeah," Edy said, reaching for the cigarette. "Sure."

She didn't believe me. I didn't believe it myself. Lack of sleep wasn't our problem. "And about this morning? Don't do it again."

Edy dumped the water that had pooled in a fold of her poncho, and then lifted the garb to shield the smoke. "Don't do what?"

"Asking Juno to let me sleep in. Don't do it."

I could tell she was trying to read my expression. We stood for a moment before she smiled. Breaking eye contact, she shook her head. Then she flicked the cigarette into the street and put her hand on my shoulder. "Listen, player," she said. "I love you and all, but if I'm asking anybody for ten minutes extra bunk, it's going to be for me." She stepped back. "And speaking of sleep, I'm hitting the sack. Don't stay out too long."

Edy disappeared into the doorway. She dodged showing concern, but if anybody gave her credit for something they could owe her for, she'd take it. I believed her denial. When I looked back into the street, Freesia's silhouette rounded the corner. She was running off to the far end of the village. I watched until she disappeared down a cross street. "You gotta' be shitting me."

I smoked half the pack before stepping inside and out of the rain.

 


	3. Chapter 3

That night I dreamed of drowning in the wadi. I started out in a corner booth of the bar Freesia and I prowled in Randgriz. It was a nice place. A bit pricy, but the atmosphere was second to none. The lights were dimmed, and a haze of smoke lingered in the air before settling over the tables between me and the bar across the room. The place was empty.

A crowd walked in sometime around eleven. They were angels. As they stepped through the door, each of them took off their wings and hung them on the coatracks. One of them walked over to the jukebox and played some music. The songs were lively. Upbeat. They all gathered in an open space at the far end of the bar and started dancing. None of them spoke.

The music slowed as the hours rolled past. The songs didn't change—only the tempo. The rhythms crawled along at half speed until they finally stopped at closing time. Then the angels stopped dancing and walked towards the door, each pausing only a moment to don their wings before stepping outside. I followed.

They gathered in the street, and I watched them pair up. One by one the groups nodded to each other before disappearing into the sky. The last set held hands before taking off. They didn't even look my way.

When they were gone I noticed that I wasn't alone. There was a woman standing on the corner down the street. She looked like Freesia. When I walked closer I saw it wasn't her. It was the woman from the village—the wounded man's nurse. She was wearing a blue jacket, even though it was summer, and she was carrying an umbrella. She didn't notice me either. I tried walking towards her, but after a few steps I felt a drop of rain strike my nose. All of a sudden it was pouring. She didn't open the umbrella.

I heard a roar behind me, and when I turned to look there was a wall of water tearing down the street. It swept me off my feet. I hit the façade of one of the buildings and found it had turned into the bank of the wadi. The bodies of the men we'd killed earlier swam next to me. They were already rotting. One of them grabbed my leg and pulled me under. He was too strong to fight. When we hit the bottom, he pulled me close and hugged me. I thought I saw feathers in the current. Then I blacked out.

I woke up to the rain pattering against the window of our makeshift barracks, and in my only half awake stupor wished it would pour through and wash me away. It would be alright if I drowned. As long as the current swept me out of Barious.

It didn't, and after listening to the storm hammer against the glass for a long minute I sat up. The room was dark, but in the dim of what little light came in from the hallway I could see it looked the same as I'd left it when I fell asleep. Edy had finally settled down, and it looked like she laid herself down a little closer to where I was than she really needed to. I wasn't the only one who wanted to be anywhere else. Sometimes being nowhere can be tolerable if you've got somebody within arm's reach. Doesn't matter who. Could be anyone. I was glad it was Edy.

She'd left her notebook open. Probably fell asleep still writing. I scuttled her way and lifted it as gently as I could from where it had fallen over her chest. There were at least three new pages written in, but it was too dark to read. It looked like an hour's work at least. Maybe more. Enough to tell me she wasn't sleeping any better than I was.

After that dream I knew there wasn't any hope of drifting back off, so I tossed my blanket aside and threw it over Edy. Hers was too small, and her bare leg had stuck itself out into the open. She mumbled as I covered it, but I couldn't make it out. Edy talked in her sleep. Things she wouldn't say when she was awake. Sometimes about family. Sometimes about friends. Never about herself, and never anything bad. She only had beautiful things to say when she was dreaming, and I couldn't stand to listen to it. There shouldn't have been anything worth saying about me. She always found a way anyhow.

I needed to get outside and clear my head, but I stopped to look through Nils's ruck before leaving and pulled out one of the cigarette packs he'd won from me. I didn't care if he found out in the morning. I hoped he did.

It was pouring harder than I'd ever seen outside, but I wasn't any more likely to be swept away out there than I had been in the room. The cigarette was a bitch to light. Everything was a bitch in the rain. Patrolling, fighting, smoking. Add water, and anything that makes you miserable turns devastating.

The streets were empty. What looked like Nancy and Hector passed by on patrol, but after they were gone I was alone. I kept looking for people. Anybody I could recognize. I told myself it didn't matter who. But when Marina came around the corner, trying to light a smoke of her own, and cursing her entire way down the street when she couldn't, I knew she wasn't enough. I wasn't looking for just anybody. I was looking for that girl. The one I thought was Freesia, but wasn't.

And I couldn't even say why. I'd only ever seen her that first day when I kicked her door in. Then again in that dream. Or nightmare. Whatever the fuck it was. Her and that Goddamn umbrella. It didn't mean anything.

That was the scariest part about it.

* * *

I was supposed to be a sniper. All through that mandatory military training, marksmanship was the only thing I was really good at. I couldn't arc a lance round into a window, or find my way out of the woods after being thrown in with a canteen and a compass, but with a rifle I was God, and in a town where you either grew up to be a miner or a wife, that made me hot shit.

When I went to boot they rolled me into their marksman program. Pass through that and you're off to sniper school. It was a breeze. Everybody there already knew how to shoot, so they covered the mental bases. The philosophy, if you could call it that. We spent the mornings in a classroom, where the drill instructors told us all about how marksmen saved lives in the field. How one shot could clear an entire platoon to move forward. How that platoon could go on to save an entire company. That company could save a battalion, and it went all the way up the line. The way they talked, one bullet could win a war.

Every night, just before sunset, they lined us up on the range for target shooting. The targets were set up about three hundred meters out—big, black circles with scoring zones ringing a red center. I could hit within the inner three zones every time. Best in the class. By the end of boot, the instructors told me they already had my papers ready. Sniper school. Finishing the rest of the marksmen course was just a formality.

On the last day, they had what they called a final exam. All through boot they told us not to worry about it. It wasn't any different than what we'd already been doing. The only thing you had to do was score a shot on the target. It didn't even matter what zone.

The drill instructor who pulled me out for my final was named Dale. He looked more like a clerk than a soldier. The uniform he wore was a size too small, and he wore his bifocals pressed too close to his face. When we got to the range, he shook my hand before handing me my rifle. Told me he was glad boot was finishing, because his son was just learning to walk, and he didn't want to miss it. Then he handed me a magazine, and asked if I had a son. I told him I didn't. "That's alright," he said. "You'll have plenty of time for that later."

He set me up in firing lane four. It didn't seem to matter—they brought all the trainees to the range one at a time, so the place was deserted other than the two of us. "It's just like all the other times," he told me, kneeling next to where I'd laid down on my stomach. "Target is set at the same distance. All you need to do is score one hit. You've got the entire magazine to do it. Confirm the target with me, and then I'll give you the go ahead. Do not fire until I tell you."

I laughed him off. Then I looked through the scope. The target was the same distance. In fact, it was bigger. But it wasn't a circle. It was a pinup of a man. Dale asked me if I saw it. Then he asked me what color his eyes were, and they were blue. He told me to describe him. The man on the target had an Imperial uniform drawn onto him, but he wasn't wearing the helmet. Light brown hair. It was a bit shaggy. Looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days. His rank insignia said private. Infantry.

When I told Dale everything I could, he told me to aim ten meters to the right. There was a sign posted, with print large enough to read through the lens. "You see it?" Dale asked.

"Yes, sir."

"What does it say?"

It said everything. The target's name. His age. Lukas Keller, twenty-five years old. He had a younger sister, and lived at home with his mother. Her name was Hannah. Lukas worked doing hard labor. He hated it, but his family needed to eat, and he was their only income. That was why he joined the Army. He didn't care about the war. Barely had a high school education. He'd never even been to the capital. So on and so on.

When I finished reading, Dale clapped me on the shoulder. "Good," he said. "Now tell me about his first girlfriend."

There wasn't anything about that on the sign. "I'm sorry?"

"His first girlfriend. What was she like?"

I ran through the print again. There was his hometown. His mother. His sister. There was no mention of a girlfriend. No mention of a father. "I don't understand."

"Guy's twenty-five. He's had to have had something, right?"

"I don't know anything about any girlfriends."

Dale lifted his hand from my shoulder. "Why, is he a faggot?"

I could imagine his glasses pushed so far into his face they brushed his eye lashes. The drill instructors could get mean, and angry. That was their job. But they never did it on the firing line. It was the unspoken safe zone. With a gun in hand, everyone was equal. "No. It's just, there's no girlfriend."

"Alright," Dale said. "Not a relationship kind of guy. I can respect that. Then tell me about the first time he got fucked."

"What? How would I know?"

He slapped me in the back of my head hard enough that my eye banged against the scope. "Christ, Milton, are you retarded? Make it up."

"It was—" Awkward. There was too much pressure to make up a story, so I fell back on what I knew. "He was fourteen." Thirteen. "Just after his father died. She was a girl lived down the street. Maggie. A few years older."

"There we go. Where did it go down?"

"Her house, while her parents were out." They weren't. Her mother was passed out drunk on the couch. Her father died with mine.

Dale's hand was back on my shoulder. Squeezing. "Was it good?"

It wasn't. "Best he ever had."

"That's the spirit, Milton. You got this. Now tell me about the day his dad didn't come home."

I told him, and then he asked about when his sister was born. About what kind of clothes his mother wore. Gifts he got for them. The first birthday he could remember. His last birthday.

After twenty minutes of storytelling, Dale was still clutching my shoulder. "Think you know this guy?"

We'd gone through his life story. How could I not? "Yeah."

"Good." He lifted his hand. "Kill him."

I aimed back at the pinup. Put his center of mass in my crosshairs. "Shoot the target?"

"No." Dale's voice hadn't changed. Even when he'd been putting pressure on me to make up a story, he still sounded like he belonged behind a store counter. Working a register instead of a rifle. "I want you to shoot Lukas. Kill him."

I let out my breath and put my finger on the trigger, but jerked it. The rifle went off before I was ready. Dale looked through his binoculars and said, "Miss."

The shot wasn't even close. Soared high. It hadn't even hit the board Lukas was posted on. It was my first major miss in all of boot. "I failed."

"Weren't you listening? You have the rest of the magazine to hit. Shoot again. I want to watch him die."

I'd never seen anything so clearly through my scope. There was so much detail on the pinup that I could see his pupils were dilated. Big enough to take everything in. Even a bullet. I fired, and the shot went left.

"Miss."

I fired, and the bullet went high. "Miss."

Before I could aim again, Dale told me to stop. "Look at me." I did. I had to look up to him from where I was on my stomach, but he still managed to peer at me from over his glasses. "Fuck his mother," he said. "Fuck his sister. Fuck that slut he drilled from down the street, and fuck him. Take your rifle and blow his fucking teeth out the back of his head."

There weren't a pair of eyes in the world as blue as Lukas's. My hands were shaking, and I wasn't breathing. I tried to calm down. Take in some air. My finger wasn't anywhere near the trigger.

Dale grabbed me by my collar and pulled me to my knees. Then he started walking down range. Dragged me forward until we were about fifteen feet from where Lukas was posted. He grabbed my rifle and handed me a Mags. "Chamber a round."

I did, and he said, "Clear the safety."

I did.

He said, "Close your eyes and spray."

With my lids shut, every recoil felt like the world ending. It was earsplitting. Then it was done.

When I opened my eyes, Dale told me to clear the chamber and reengage the safety. With the weapon safe, he walked forward to check the target. Out of the magazine, five of my shots hit the board. Only two of them hit Lukas. One went into his left shoulder, and the other grazed his opposite hip. Neither of them were kill shots, and neither would have taken him out of combat.

Dale pushed his finger into the bullet holes as if he needed to feel them in order for it to be real. He studied them, then pulled out a pen and marked some things on his clipboard. When he walked back, he shook my hand. "You're cleared for duty," he said. "Congratulations."

* * *

I never got my rifle back. When they assigned me to Squad 7 they gave me a Mags. I carried it from Vassel all the way to Barious. Every so often I did get my hands on a rifle, though, and I was holding Emile's the afternoon after my nightmare. We were holed up in the second floor of a building overlooking the desert outside of town. Wendy, Cherry, and Ramona were there too, the first pair manning their .30 caliber machinegun that they set up in the window, and Ramona looking through her binoculars at the same thing I was watching through Emile's scope—a man with a gun.

"What is he doing?" I asked.

I lowered Emile's rifle, and Ramona lowered her binoculars. The dark rings around her eyes that should have been makeup were lack of sleep. "Hunting," she said.

"Bullshit he's hunting. There's nothing out there."

She shrugged. Wendy drummed her fingers on the .30, and Emile stepped next to me to peer out of the window himself. "Depends on what you're looking for."

Even before I'd asked, I knew what the man was doing. Reconnaissance. When I watched him through the scope, he made sure he never made direct eye contact with our position, but I could tell he was checking us out in glances. He was checking to see where we were setting up outposts. What kind of weapons we had. He'd report it back, and by the end of the day their town watch would know every bunker and fighting hole we put up. "We should shoot him."

Ramona started scratching caked mud from her nails. "Probably."

"No, seriously," Wendy said. "He's got a gun. We know why he's out there. We don't shoot him, they'll know exactly where to put that lance round if they ever decide to roll through here and kick us out of town."

"Yep."

Cherry stepped closer to the window to look out herself, and made sure her hip hit Emile's on the way. The girl was an artist. It was no more than a light press, and no less than a graze. She held it. Emile and I were probably the only two who noticed. "It'd be an easy shot," she said. "Emi could make it no problem, even through the storm."

He blushed, but didn't say anything, and looked everywhere but at Cherry.

When her nails were as clean as they were going to get, Ramona looked at me. "You want to shoot him?"

Of course not. But Wendy was right. The Lancaar was still missing. If they had it, and knew where to use it, we were going to lose people we didn't have to. "You clearing me to fire?"

She nodded. "I'll green light it," she said, "but if you do the shooting, you have to do the write ups for it."

"Isn't that your duty?"

"Yeah." She wiped her nose with her sleeve, then started brushing her hair with her fingers. "I'll do all that with the Imps, no problem. But if you shoot one of these guys, and he didn't shoot first, some politician's going to get real pissed off and he'll bitch out a General. Then the General will take it out on a Colonel, and it'll go all the way down the line until it hits the Captain, and the Captain will come down on Welkin. And then that whole chain goes down on me." She tried to look for her reflection in the window pane, but sat back when she couldn't find it. "Shooting him is the right call. But it'll make one big pile of shit, and I'm going to be on the bottom. It's only fair you take care of the formalities."

Lifting Emile's rifle, I watched the man through the lens. "What kind of formalities?"

"You'll have to write an action report," she said. "Then since he's Gallian some kind of thing justifying the shooting, along with whatever things they'll have you fill out for whatever investigation they run. Then the Captain will probably have you write out a bunch of letters for the village. To friends and family and such. Probably one for each. Town like this, could be the whole village."

Even through the scope I couldn't see the man clearly enough to see his eyes, but I could imagine them. Dark brown. Just like Freesia's. "That sounds like a lot of paperwork."

She sighed. "It's a lot of paperwork."

I handed Emile his rifle, but he seemed more focused on where Cherry was pressed up against him than he was on shooting anybody. The guy was going to get away without a scratch. "Fuck this."

Nobody said anything until Wendy pushed the .30 aside, folded her arms over the windowsill, and rested her chin. "This would all be a whole lot easier if we stopped being such huge dicks and just let them be their own country."

Emile finally shifted, and I could have sworn I watched Cherry's heart shatter as he stepped away. "That would make this another war," he said. "How would that be easier?"

Rain pouring through the open window and onto her face, Wendy shrugged. "Then we could just shoot them."

Nobody talked for a long while. The man outside pretended to kneel down to look for tracks, moving his head left and right and glancing up to our window when he thought it was safe to look. I watched him hunting for ghosts, but I all could think about was trying to figure how much I was worth in a world where a person's life could be valued with how much paperwork needed filing if he got killed. My father got an insurance claim and a letter of condolences. I probably wouldn't get much more.

About ten minutes later Wavy knocked on the door of our outpost. "Quiet?" he asked, after we let him in.

"Mostly," Ramona said. "We got a guy out there making like he's hunting."

"Scouting our outposts?"

"Yep."

His hair had been soaked so thoroughly that I could see drops beading at their ends, and his glasses were starting to fog. It didn't seem worth wiping them, and he didn't try looking into the desert. "We saw two others checking the east and west ends of the village. Just keep an eye out. The Lieutenant doesn't want any of them shot." He nodded to Emile, Cherry, and Wendy, then stopped on me. Then he did a double take on Ramona. "How are you doing?"

"Good for eighty five over fifty eight," she said. "You here for a checkup?"

He shook his head. "Are you hungry, Milton?"

Starving. We had our rations, but Alicia decided it would be a good idea to start sharing with the locals. It made them happy. Happy people were easier to deal with. "You relieving me?" I asked.

"No," he said. "Welkin has a special assignment for you. Said you should go into it hungry. He wants you to grab Nelson and meet him in the town square in half an hour."

"I'll get to it."

"Good." Wavy didn't stay long. He worked out some section formations with Ramona, then walked out.

"Go in hungry?" Wendy asked. "Sounds promising."

"Gotta be better than this," Emile said.

Better than sitting on that floor looking out into the wastes all day, sure. But I'd still be in town. One shithole room was as good as the next, and in the village, all of the rooms were shitholes. Whether you were eating or watching some guy out in the wilds trying to figure out how to kill you, you'd rather be anywhere else. "I better head out then," I said. "Know where Edy went?"

Nobody did. "I could go for a steak," Emile said.

Wendy nodded. "Steak and vodka."

Cherry pouted, but not before making sure Emile was watching. "I told you we should have brought that fifth."

Ramona hit her on the shoulder, and that was my cue to leave. I said goodbye, but it went unanswered. "You guys have a fifth?" Emile asked.

The door closed behind me, and a muffled, "Goddammit, Cherry," was the only sense of farewell I got.

Go in hungry. That wouldn't be a problem. The issue would be focusing. No matter how much food they put in front of me, I knew I wouldn't be able to keep that man in the desert out of my head. Imagining the color of his eyes. Watching him check us out as he pretended to look down his iron sights. Trying to breathe against the feel of my finger resting against the rifle's trigger guard as I put him in Emile's scope.

And maybe it was the adrenaline, or the shock of seeing what looked like a man sitting in my crosshairs, but on that last day of boot, when they wanted me to shoot that pinup with the sign posted next to him—it wasn't until much later that I realized the sign was describing me.

* * *

Anywhere else, my special assignment would have been a winning lottery ticket. When Edy and I linked up with Welkin in the square, he told us we were going to dinner. It was at the mayor's house. Or village elder's. Maybe Tribal leader's. I didn't know what they called him, and it didn't matter. Edy and I weren't invited for what we knew, we were invited for what we carried. Guns.

Between the two of us, Edy and I could have killed everyone living within two blocks of his home with magazines to spare. That wasn't our job. We were there less for protection than we were for show. Turned out the mayor lived the house we cleared when we first came into town. The one they put their wounded man in. Welkin wanted us there as familiar faces. A reminder that we were truly, honestly there to help, but if they didn't want that, we'd kick their doors in. At least we were getting a meal out of it.

The dining room looked like any corner diner in the run down parts of Fouzen or Randgriz, but it was the closest thing they had to a five star restaurant. The fabric of the tablecloth was stretched, and it was full of holes and tears near the few edges that weren't frayed. My chair looked like it hadn't been refurbished since before I was born. Scuff marks covered the wood floor. After days in the rain, if it had been anywhere else it could have been Heaven.

The mayor met us at the door with his wife, and after a formal greeting sat us down at the table. Welkin wanted to make an impression, but he kept the group small. We were the only people he brought besides Freesia. She translated everything. With her having to repeat everything four times to get a message back and forth, we were looking at a long dinner. I didn't have much patience for that sort of thing. Edy had less.

They started slow, too. Small talk. Welkin complimented his home, then asked him how he was doing. The mayor said something in gibberish that meant he was doing well. Welkin said he was glad. He never spoke to the man's wife. She may as well have been a placemat.

I could smell the food cooking in the kitchen. It smelled good. Some kind of meat. After weeks of rations it was even more mind consuming than the guy I'd seen earlier. Impossible to ignore—at least until the girl with the umbrella brought it out to us.

I really shouldn't have been surprised. We were sitting down the hall from where I'd last seen her. Probably lived there. Maybe the mayor's servant or daughter. The way he and Welkin involved his wife in the conversation the two were probably synonyms in their language.

She was smiling when she stepped into the dining room. A perfect smile. Real. She dropped it when she saw Edy and me sitting at the table. The mayor saw her freeze, too. No wonder Welkin brought us.

It took her a moment, but she smiled again and started serving. She didn't look at me when she put my plate down. Same with Edy. Freesia said something to her when she got her dish, and the girl said something back. They laughed. After everybody had their food, the girl moved to leave, but Welkin stopped her. "Why don't we set another table spot?" he asked. "This food looks delicious. We should all share it together."

His smile was wide and innocent. Welkin was a good guy, and he acted like his offer was generous, but he knew exactly what he was doing. Putting pressure on them. The mayor motioned for the girl to sit, but I could see in his eyes that he knew it wasn't his table anymore. The moment we all sat down, Welkin owned his home. "Alright," he said. "It's not every day we get a hot meal. With our host's blessing, let's enjoy it."

The food didn't look half as good as it smelled. I couldn't even tell what it was. It was hot, though. That alone made it worth eating. I reached down for my fork, but Edy stopped me. "Wait," she said. "Use the other one."

The two forks didn't look much different. One had longer prongs, but otherwise I couldn't tell them apart. I grabbed the one Edy told me to use anyway, and took a bite. The meat was gamy, and tough. The greens tasted old. That girl still wouldn't look at me.

Welkin started asking real questions as soon as we started eating. What they did with the weapons they got. Where the town watch went. Who was in it. Edy and I listened and ate. If the mayor's wife was his servant, we were his. The food sat in my stomach as soon as I swallowed. Nobody was comfortable. Everybody tried to pretend we weren't there. Fifteen minutes into the meal, Freesia stopped and turned our way. "You guys need to start talking."

"We don't exactly speak the language," I said. "What are we supposed to ask him?"

"No, to each other." She pointed to Edy. "Start talking. Doesn't matter what you talk about, just say something. You're sitting here brooding like hired muscle. It's scaring them."

I locked eyes with Edy. She shrugged in a way that told me she didn't understand either. "Isn't that why you brought us?"

Freesia bit her lip. It wasn't cute. It was her trying to keep herself from screaming. "Humor me."

Looking around the table, I saw she was right. Our hosts where hunched over. Trying to protect themselves. They were all smiling, but they weren't happy smiles. They were appeasing. I didn't need to bring my Mags. If Edy was the gun barrel, I was the rifling. We were the heaviest weapons Welkin could have brought. "I guess we should talk."

"Yeah," Edy said.

Welkin began the interrogation again. He asked the mayor what he knew about the convoy shooting. I asked Edy, "What's the most obscene word you can think of to describe a—"

"Cunt," she said.

Welkin dropped his fork. What sounded like rain pounding against the roof was Freesia seething next to him.

* * *

The rest of dinner didn't go so well. Freesia and Welkin carried on like nothing had happened, but it didn't take a body language expert to tell they were pissed. Nobody in the room could have missed it. The table seated seven smiling people, and not one of us meant it. We all pretended anyway.

I got my chance to escape near the end of what I assumed was the main course. The girl from my dream had left midway through the serving, and with Edy and I in the middle of a debate over the definition of feltching, Welkin was more than happy to let me excuse myself to run a sweep of the grounds. I never ran the sweep. Instead, I stepped outside for a smoke.

The mayor's house had an awning hanging over the entryway. The rain had seeped through the ground and turned the dirt under it to mud, but the bench next to the door was dry. My cigarette was already lit before I noticed the girl was sitting on it.

My first thought was that it was Freesia. I knew I'd just left her inside, but the two looked so similar I had to think about it to make sure. Her hair was the only quick giveaway—cut at the shoulders instead of tied back. I couldn't tell while she was sitting, but I was pretty sure she was shorter, too. Not by much. "I take it you weren't a fan of dinner either," I said.

She jumped in her seat, and after she saw it was me she sat straight. Her legs tensed. She said something, but it came out so fast that I doubted I would have caught it even if I could understand.

"It's alright," I said. "I won't hurt you." I pointed to my chest. "My name is Salinas."

Her eyes darted toward the door. If she'd been uncomfortable inside, I was only making it worse by talking to her under the awning. I didn't blame her for being scared. The last time we met, she'd been thrown to the ground and held at gunpoint.

She didn't say anything. I could see her holding something, and when I stepped closer and looked it was one of those flowers we'd found in the irrigation ditch out near the wadi. "That flower," I said, pointing to hers, then to the one in my lapel. "I have one too." I gave it a gentle tap. "Desert lily."

Her legs were still straining, but after she saw my flower, she met my eyes for the first time. She pointed to her own flower. "Corthu," she said.

She smiled, and while it was only slight, it was the first genuine smile I'd seen since she'd walked in to serve dinner. I tapped my chest. "Salinas."

"Salinas," she repeated, and her legs relaxed a bit. Her shoulders were still hunched, but she tapped her own chest and said, "Ves'tacha."

"Ves'tacha. That's a pretty name."

She didn't understand my words, but my tone must have said enough to get the point across, because she eased back into the bench and took a deep, even breath.

"I'm sorry for kicking your door in," I said. "It was just our job, you know? I didn't mean to scare you."

She said something in her language, and it was soothing under the din of the rain.

"I'm sorry we have to be here, too. I don't want to be here any more than you want us around."

When she spoke again, I didn't bother trying to separate the sounds. I stopped trying to find the breaks between words. Letting it all flow together, it was beautiful.

"I'm sorry I hate you, too," I said. Then I shook my head. "I don't mean you personally. I mean the whole village. I don't think I really hate you. I think I'm just frustrated."

It was easy to apologize when the woman listening couldn't judge. I could tell her anything, and she'd just smile and nod. I said, "I'm sorry I shot Lukas."

She reached, and pulled the flower out of my lapel. Cradling it next to hers, she stroked its petals. Then, talking the entire time, she replaced it with the one she'd been carrying.

"Thank you," I said, looking down at the flower she'd given me. "I'll take good care of it."

She grinned and put her finger up to her lips.

"Yeah, I won't tell anyone," I said, laughing.

We sat under the awning for another ten minutes. Sometimes we spoke. Other times we just watched the rain. She spun my flower between her fingers the entire time.

When we heard voices from inside, she left. It wasn't more than a wave, but her goodbye made me feel more welcome in that village than I'd felt anywhere since I left home. Edy, Freesia, and Welkin walked out a few seconds later. Welkin didn't look at me when he walked past. Edy did, and her eyes told me we were in a lot of trouble. Freesia was the only one who stopped. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she was gritting her teeth. "Did you enjoy yourself?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, and I was honest.

"At least one of us did." She sighed, leaning into the building. "What the Hell were you thinking?"

"It's not like they could understand us."

"No, they couldn't." I couldn't tell whether she was just exhausted or about to cry. "I could."

The wind picked up, and the rain swept in with it. A mist washed over my face before receding. I'd known what I said at dinner would hurt Freesia when I said it. I loved her, but somehow I just didn't care. It was like nothing that happened after our argument by the wadi mattered. None of it felt real. For some reason I thought I'd get a clean slate the moment we left town. Seeing Freesia under the awning, I knew I wouldn't. "I'm sorry about—"

"Fuck off with your apologies," she said. She stepped out into the rain. "You're always sorry for this or that, and then you just go make a jackass of yourself again. I really don't want to hear it this time."

It was always so much harder when they understood. "Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here." I followed her. We were walking away from the building I'd set bunk in, but I didn't have anywhere to be. I doubted I'd be able to fall asleep even if I went back for the night. "I see you were getting cozy with Ves'tacha."

"She seems really nice."

"She is, but don't bother."

"What?"

"She's getting married."

I stopped in my tracks, but caught myself before Freesia had taken more than two steps ahead of me. "It's not like that."

Her head was tilted down. She was probably pretending to watch her footing on the road. The mud made the ground soft, and it was cratered with boot-prints and tread marks. It gave her a convenient excuse not to make eye contact. "Then what is it?"

I thought it was stupid myself. It sounded even stupider when I said it out loud. "She reminds me of my sister."

"Really?" Freesia asked, but she still wouldn't look. When a woman would rather focus on tracks in the mud than on me, I knew I was in a bad place. I'd take Welkin's lecture over hers any day.

"Not the way she looks," I said. "When Edy and I found her, she was helping that guy who got shot. She didn't seem to know what happened to him, and I don't think she really cared. Just wanted to help him. My sister would do that."

"She's a nurse, right?"

"She is now. She was starting med school when the war started. She'll finish there when the war ends."

All Freesia said was, "Good for her."

It was. My sister was born with all of the potential our family had to spare. Nobody else in town had anything going for them. I'd resigned myself to a life in the mines. I was alright with that, as long as she could get something more. She deserved it. "Good for Ves'tacha, too," I said. "Getting married. That's a big thing."

Freesia scoffed. Her boot kicked a wave of mud out in front of her, and the drops of grime falling into the puddles mixed in with the drops from the rain. "Don't tell me you're getting on the pro marriage boat."

I shrugged. "What's wrong with that?"

She stopped, and turned to face me. Her hair was matted. Strands of it stuck to her forehead. Her eyes were baggy and swollen—a deep shade of red around the iris—and the rain dripping down her cheeks carried streaks of dirt. Her uniform was caked with mud, and every inch of it was soaked through as if she'd taken it through a river, and she was beautiful. "You want to get married?"

"Someday," I said. Before the war, I'd planned out my entire life. Enlisting changed most of the details, but the framework stayed the same. Originally my plan had been to be married by thirty. After Vassel, that jumped to forty. "I'm not ready for that yet, but give it another decade or so, yeah. I'd like to get married."

She studied my face. Looked me up and down. I wondered what she saw under the uniform and the mud. With the gun set aside. Then she turned away and continued walking. "You'd make a shitty husband," she said.

I let her go for a few steps before I hustled to catch up. "How can you know that?"

In a flash of lightning, I could she her thrust her hands into her pockets. Her head was dropped so low I was convinced she was watching her own feet splashing into the road. Watching her fresh prints trail off behind her. "I'd make a shitty wife."

There wasn't anything I wanted more than to grab her by the shoulder. Spin her around and look her in the eyes. Tell her she was wrong. I couldn't. She was right about both of us. "So how's this fantasy go?" she continued. "Grab a wife sometime down the line? Close to ten years younger, I'm guessing. Still young and pretty. Spend the rest of your days wasting away in some house outside the city, just the two of you?"

"Sounds about right," I said. "Plus a kid."

She laughed, and I could tell she was laughing at me. "You want kids?"

"A kid. No more than one."

"Let me guess. You want a son so you can raise him to bed women, break hearts, and be just like you."

I couldn't. Thank God for that. Looking back, it wasn't my father's influence that made me who I was, but his absence. I decided that when I had a kid, I'd be there. I didn't care how. That it might not be my choice. "A daughter," I said. "I want a little girl. Someone I can spoil the shit out of."

She looked at me again, eyes wider than usual. Softer. "Really?"

"Yeah."

She nodded, but not before looking away. At the mud. At the cracks lining the plaster of the buildings beside us. Storm clouds between the lightning flashes. Anything but me. "You'd make a good father."

It wasn't long before we found ourselves standing outside another makeshift barracks. It was one of second platoon's. Freesia decided it was as good a place to lose me as any. "I've still got a lot of work to take care of tonight," she said. "That dinner's making me feel sick enough as it is. You need to go."

The food we ate tasted awful, but I felt fine. It took longer than it should have for me to realize what she was really saying was she didn't want to see me. "I'll go," I said. "Can we talk first?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She put her and on my shoulder, and leaned in close enough that she had to bend her elbow nearly ninety degrees. She didn't look angry. Just tired. Defeated. "We talk now, I'm going to say a lot of things I don't want to say about you. I can't look at you without thinking them. And I don't want that."

What I wanted to say was whatever would end this. I couldn't find the words. What was I supposed to say to somebody like Freesia? Someone closer to me than marriage, but not quite family. "Try to stay dry."

"Yeah," she said. "You too."

I stood beside the door of the building and watched her walk off. In the rain, silhouettes fade in and out, and I thought she disappeared twice before she finally rounded a corner. I wanted a minute alone. Some time away from the rest of the Squad, or the villagers. A minute to breathe and figure out exactly how deep I'd fucked up. Marina's voice cut that minute short. "Looks like someone's not getting laid tonight," she said.

She walked out of the entryway. She'd probably been standing just inside the whole time. Freesia still looked beautiful soaked in rain and covered with mud. Marina wasn't exactly pretty just out of the shower. "And what would you know about that?" I asked.

"More than enough to know you're shit out of luck." She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and stepped next to me. "You got a full load?"

Six magazines, a Mags, and a hand grenade. "Yeah."

"Good." She fumbled with her lighter, but couldn't get a spark. "You're on patrol."

"I pulled outpost duty earlier, and just got through an assignment with Welkin." I pulled out my own lighter and, covering it with my hand, held the flame up for her. "I'm off for the rest of the night."

She didn't thank me for the light. I'd seen it before. A private gets some rank and suddenly starts going on power trips. Could have been the nicest person before, but once they got a title they were a bastard overnight. Marina was different. She was a bitch even before she was a lance corporal. "Well that sucks." She cleared her throat, and leaned against the side of the building. "Alicia wants an extra patrol out. That means someone's pulling double duty. Since it doesn't look like you're getting your dick wet tonight, I'm making it you."

I opened my mouth to argue, but stopped myself before starting a shouting match. It wasn't one I was going to win. "I can't go alone," I said instead. "Who am I going with?"

Her shrug told me she didn't care. She pointed to the door. "Pick somebody. Just get it done."

I was glad to leave her behind when I walked inside. Rule of thumb was the less time spent with her the better. It was dry in the entryway, but muddy boot prints trailed deeper into the house. I followed them, and they led me to a small living area that looked to have been converted to a rec-room by our Squad. Emile and Nancy were sitting on the couch, chatting. Cherry was pretending to flip through a magazine, but I could see her heart wasn't in it. She was eyeing the two whenever she got the chance. Homer and Elysse were playing a card game at the table. Looked like blackjack. Wendy was taking a nap on the floor.

I thought about waking her up. She was more my age. I figured it better to let the kids rest and have their fun. When I took a second glance around the room, though, I saw Cherry was miserable. The kind of miserable you can only pick up on if you feel it yourself. "Hey Cherry," I said, "you want to go take a walk?"

She looked up from her magazine—or away from Emile and Nancy, I couldn't tell which she was watching at the moment—and nodded. I briefed her while she grabbed her rifle and some ammunition. Then we left, and she didn't glance back to the couch when we walked through the door.

The rain was starting to die down outside, but the wind was picking up, and it worked its way through the streets between the buildings like a wind tunnel. It was frigid cutting through our wet uniforms. I was shivering by the time we turned our first corner. I wondered whether it had been a mistake to bring Cherry along. If maybe she would have been more comfortable back in the room. I looked her over, and she still looked miserable. But it looked like a better suffering. A distracting one.

Cherry was a short girl. Before Barious, I would have guessed her to be a hundred pounds soaking wet. Actually seeing it, I changed that guess to one-twenty. She didn't have her hair in her usual ponytail. Sopping wet, hair tied up like that would turn into a whip. It fell straight down below her shoulders, wet strands sticking to whatever they touched. There was no such thing as makeup in the rain.

She was smiling, though. A thin smile, but pleasant. I didn't think I could match it. She carried a certain grace about her, even through the storm. Back straight. Shoulders broad. Chin up.

"It sucks being third wheel," I said.

Cherry laughed. It was barely a snicker, but it was something. The wind blew at her sleeve, and I could see the bracelets she wore around her wrist—pink pearls and hematite. "Hard."

"I'm sorry."

The road we were on looked clear. We saw Yoko and Coby walk into the intersection ahead, and waved as they passed through. "Don't be," Cherry said. "I like Nancy a lot. She's a sweet girl. If I were him, I'd choose her too."

"That just makes it suck more."

Cherry laughed again; longer this time, and fuller. "You have experience with something like that?"

"Something like that," I said. It wasn't an exact match. Freesia and I didn't have the same love for each other that Cherry was looking for in Emile. We both knew that would be a dead end for us. But there was something there, and Cherry and I were facing the same walls. Trying to cling to someone who only wanted distance. "It doesn't get any easier."

I heard her sigh over the wind. Maybe it was only the rain dripping down her face, but it looked like she was crying. "Did you know she prays every night before she goes to sleep?"

"Nancy?"

Cherry nodded.

"No," I said. "I didn't know that."

"Every night, just before lights out," Cherry continued. "Like clockwork. Sometimes I join her, but I feel bad."

We turned another corner into another empty street. "How come?"

Cherry scanned the windows of the buildings on her side of the road as she spoke. Stroked the grip of her rifle with her thumb. A nervous tick. "We sit down and hold hands, you know? And she's all like, praying for the war to end and shit. And she asks God to watch over all of us. Keep us safe. She even asks Him to watch over the Imperials, because, you know, they're people, too, and they got every right to go home same as we do. Then she asks God to protect me." She sighed again. "Just me." She spit. "All I ever ask God for is Emile."

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.

"You know what she'd do if she knew?" she asked.

"What?" I already knew.

"Forgive me," Cherry said. "I think that's the worst part."

We came to another corner, but I stopped her before we turned. "I take it you didn't drink that fifth you were talking about earlier."

"No," she said, showing me every tooth with her smile. "I was just talking. I'm not an idiot. We don't get drunk in a combat zone."

Calling the village a combat zone was a stretch, but it wasn't exactly wrong. I got what she meant. "Who's carrying it? You or Ramona?"

She shook her shoulders, and her pack bounced against her back. "It's in my ruck."

I grabbed her arm and pulled her closer. She needed a friendly hug. So did I. "When we get back, what do you say we pull it out? Just one shot. Not enough to mess us up, but enough."

"Just one shot?"

"Just one."

She nodded. For once, she looked happy. "I could use a drink."

"Yeah," I said. "Me too."

I let her go, and she stepped to the corner, but when she looked around it, she didn't turn. Instead she dropped to her knee and lifted her rifle. "Oh shit," she said.

My Mags was at my shoulder before she finished the sentence. I had my thumb resting on the safety. "What is it?"

"Take a look," she said, waving me forward. "Isn't that the guy we saw this afternoon?"

I poked my head around the corner, and it was. The man we'd seen hunting earlier. He had the same surplus rifle from the first war he'd been carrying when we saw him out in the desert, but he had another slung over his shoulder. It looked newer. "Yeah, that's him."

"He's got our gun, too."

The man was hunched over as he ran. He was trying to keep himself in the shadows. It was dark enough that he had plenty of places to hide. We watched until he stopped, and walked into a building on the left side of the street. "That's what we've been waiting for," I said. "You want to go check it out?"

"Just the two of us?"

If it came down to it, I knew Cherry could kill. I'd watched her do it in Kloden. She shot a man's gut out, and he writhed and moaned between the lines during a cease fire. Took him forty minutes to bleed out. Some people in the Squad still looked on her with glowing eyes—deluded themselves into seeing a mess of youthful innocence that, deep down, everybody secretly knew couldn't exist here. I knew better. She'd kill if she had to. I wasn't as confident about myself. "No. I don't think that's a good idea."

She nodded. "Let's report it in and get a platoon out here."

I stepped away from the corner, and she followed. "We'll call a rain check on that drink."

Cherry looked disappointed. I was disappointed, too. All I wanted was to drink the night away. Drink everything about this mission gone. I glanced over at Cherry as we ran, and wondered how she kept herself from pulling the booze out every night. How much self-control it took to keep her from drinking herself to death. More than I had. From the way she was grimacing, it didn't look like she had it in her anymore, either.

I watched her pack bounce against her hips as she straddled forward, and thought about the fifth inside. About that man we'd seen carrying our weapons. Somehow I knew that before the night was over, one shot just wouldn't be enough.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Six magazines, a Mags, and a hand grenade. And that was just us shocktroopers. Our riflemen carried eight magazines and an extra frag. The grenadiers had an extra two on top of that. Wendy and Cherry had their .30, along with five one-hundred round belts. We'd run out of people to shoot long before we ran out of bullets. If what was happening in town wasn't a war, the only other word I could think of to call it was extermination.

We had half a platoon lined up outside of the building Cherry and I watched that man carry rifles into. The other half was waiting at the back door. Whoever was inside wasn't coming out without going through us.

Juno stepped out of the lineup and waved Theold forward to stand next to the door. He was carrying a large battering ram with him. The kind that doesn't just break locks, but shatters hinges. Juno looked at him, then looked at the door and said, "If we can take them we want them alive. Watch your fire. Once we make the arrests, I want this place searched top to bottom. Anything even looks suspicious, I want to hear about it. Clear?"

Everybody nodded, but most of us, we were looking up at the face of the building. There was light shining through one of the second story windows. The first floor was dark. We kept our heads low. Away from the windows. We couldn't see in any better than they could see out. Nobody knew what it would be like once we were inside. Whether or not they knew we were coming.

What nobody told us about adrenaline was that it feels like fear. Fresh out of training, most recruits couldn't tell the difference. Understanding of what it really was came in a cycle. The first time I prepped for combat, I felt nothing but fear. By the time my eighth firefight or so came around, I realized I wasn't actually afraid. In fact, I never had been. That fear I felt the first time I took fire, that was just my body getting me ready for one of the Three F's. Fight or flight or fuck. The shaking hands, the cold sweats, the combat breathing—that was me ready to kill. But after I lost count of the times I'd taken fire, I realized I was wrong about that, too.

The only difference between fear and adrenaline is the name you give it.

When Juno gave the order, Theold swung his ram into the door. Even in the dark I could see the frame splinter near the lock. Edy and Alex surged inside and disappeared into the building before the door stopped moving.

Nina was in line ahead of me. She was pushing Vyse forward. Urging him to get through the door. I was pushing her behind him. Cursing at her to move faster.

Mica followed Alex into the building ahead of us, and already people were shooting. A rifle report and a Mags burst cut through the noise of the storm. Nobody could mistake it for thunder. Vyse finally stepped inside, and more muzzle flashes lit the street. Ejected casings shot through the doorway and into the mud outside.

By the time I was in the exchange was over. Edy and Alex were already moving into the next room. Mica and Vyse weren't far behind. I wasn't watching them. I couldn't look away from the man on the floor.

He'd been shot in the neck. Arterial splatter covered the wall next to him, and more blood sprayed out of him in pumps that matched his heart beats. My ears were already ringing from the gunfire, but I could hear him moaning and gurgling as he flailed his legs. He was trying to talk.

Nina stepped over him and followed Vyse down the hall. I was trying to listen for what the dying man wanted to say when somebody hit the back of my head hard enough to push me forward. It was Jane. "Let's go, fuck-stick!" she yelled. She took a quick look at the machinegunned man, but turned away when he reached out for her. "Keep it moving!"

Our job was to take the second floor. There was a set of stairs in the entrance, but it was almost pitch black beyond the light that came in through the open doorway. I couldn't see what was at the top for how dark it was. More gunfire sounded off deeper in the house. Then a burst from the Squad's .30 from out back. The thin walls did little to muffle the booms. I planted a boot on the first step, and when I saw nothing at the top of the flight, kept walking.

It was just as dark at the top as it looked from down at the bottom. The gunfire downstairs had stopped, but I could hear voices. Screaming. I couldn't make out what they were saying, and I couldn't hear anything moving around the second floor except for the floor creaking under my boots.

The stairs led into a hallway. The left side had two doors—both of them shut. Jane was standing behind me, so close I could feel her chilling breath on the nape of my wet neck. It wasn't a comfort. Standing up front, I felt alone. "Gallian Militia!" I called out into the dark. The hardest part about trying to take somebody alive is you have to give them the chance to surrender. I tried to remember how to say things in their language, but then said, "Drop your weapons and get down on the—"

When the wall exploded out next to me I fell to the floor. I didn't even hear the gunshot—just felt the plaster and wood shower my face. I heard the second. Watched the bullet tear through the wall where I'd been standing. Jane started firing, too, and with a wall between us and whoever else was shooting, there wasn't any point in aiming. Her Mags swept left and right. Up and down.

She stopped to reload, and all I could do was stare. Not at her, or the apathy in her grimace as she slid another magazine into her gun, but at the wall she'd torn apart. The shafts of light from the other room streaming through the bullet holes. I tried to find a pattern in the tunnels and the dust and grit floating through the air. The smell of burnt gunpowder. Some reason I hadn't been standing in the path of the rounds when they blasted into the hallway.

I was searching for God and coming up empty handed.

Jane nudged me with her boot. Glanced over to make sure I was alright, then nodded towards the door. I could hear somebody moaning from the other side. Almost crying. My legs weren't steady, but I clutched my Mags and shuffled to the door, and opened it.

It was a bedroom. The man inside was slumped against the far, bullet riddled wall. With his empty rifle lying in the middle of the floor, he sat with one hand putting pressure on his leg where Jane had blown his kneecap off, and the other holding a pistol to his head.

He started screaming. He was saying, I don't know what. I shouted along with him. For him to put the gun down. To get on the floor. That if he didn't, I was going to shoot him. Jane followed in behind me, and she started yelling, too. For as well as we all understood each other, nobody might as well have been saying anything.

When he pulled the trigger the better part of his head exploded out. Even over the gunshot I could hear the sound of the bullet cracking through his skull—like the sound a driver makes hitting a golf ball.

I couldn't move. Like when I'd fallen to the floor moments before in the hallway, I was frozen in place, looking for meaning not in the light shining through bullet holes but in the blood smeared across the room. The puddle pooling on the floor, and the splatter speckling the wall. Next to me, Jane stood with her mouth agape. The blood had drained from her face, almost as if the gore from the man's head had sucked all of the blood out of us to add it to the mess. Somehow, I was able to speak. "Jane?"

She blinked—twice, hard—and then turned to the door and yelled down the stairs. "Corpsman!"

We ran forward, and as Jane kicked the gun away from the man, I put my hand to his neck to confirm the death. Only when I touched him, I felt the only thing worse than nothing—a pulse. "He's still alive."

Jane looked at me like I was babbling. Cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. "What?"

There was no way he was still alive. Not after taking a shot like that. But I could feel his heart beating through his neck. Faint, but steady. "He's got a pulse. He's still breathing."

If Jane looked pale before, I don't know what I'd call the color she turned. She looked like she retched, but in a flash she turned on me and started screaming. "What the fuck do you mean he's still breathing? He's got half a fucking head!"

"I don't know!"

"Well what do we do?"

"Fuck, Jane, I don't know!" I tried to remember everything about first-aid I'd learned in training. How to wrap bandages. Put pressure on wounds. None of it seemed to apply to a man with a giant hole in his head. I tried anyway, pushing against his skull and hoping I wasn't doing more harm than good. "Corpsman!"

Mina came into the room about half a minute later. She was already covered in blood—streaks smeared her sleeves and chest, and a few dots splashed across her cheeks like freckles. She took one look at the man and ran over. The color didn't drain from her face like it had Jane's. She didn't look phased. Like nothing registered. "You hit him with the Mags?" she asked, pushing me away.

"He shot himself," I said.

She just kept working. Checking his vitals. Moving her hands around. Even with my basic training, I had no idea what she was doing. "What with?"

Jane grabbed the handgun and turned it over. Even against its weight I could see her hands shaking. "It's a .45."

Mina didn't respond. She just kept doing whatever it was she was doing. After a while the man started shaking really hard, and when he stopped Mina said, "We can't treat him here."

"I'll get a stretcher," I said. "Take him to the aid station?"

She stopped working for a second. Looked at the man on the floor and shrugged. "I mean anywhere. He needs a medevac. A hospital. We're spread so thin out here he'll be dead long before we can get him anywhere."

I looked away. Jane tore off her ruck and pulled out a collapsible stretcher. "We've got to do something," she said.

"He'll bleed out here if we don't," I said. "Aid station is all we've got. Grab Fina and Gina and tell York to find Ves'tacha."

"Who?" Jane asked.

"That local girl. The one helping that last guy who got shot."

Mina nodded. For the first time I noticed she looked tired. Not Freesia tired, but worn down beyond most of the Squad. "Aid station," she said. "Let's go."

We put him on the stretcher, and Jane and I carried him down the stairs. The man in the entryway was dead. His body was already covered, but blood still splattered the scene and soaked through the thin white sheet covering him. I took one glance and looked away. Jane didn't look at all. We could still hear voices from behind the building where we'd heard shooting before we walked upstairs. They were still shouting. It sounded like they were arguing.

When we stepped outside, Juno saw the man on the stretcher and waved us through. She'd set up a perimeter around the building, and I saw that our platoon wasn't alone. There's no mistaking gunfire for thunder, and our firefight had drawn a crowd. What looked like most of the town was gathered around in the street. They saw us carrying their neighbor out with part of his head missing, and some of them started screaming. Others fell to their knees and wept.

Most of them just stood and watched. You don't need to be trained to shut down when somebody carries the body of somebody you love out in front of you.

* * *

I once heard a man say that vodka doesn't ease your pain, but it does get your mind off of it. Whoever said that, I doubted if he'd ever watched a suicide.

Cherry and I sat alone in a room on the second floor of one of the buildings our Squad had taken over to use as a barracks, and while I stared at her, she reached for her fifth and poured another round of shots. When she finished, we locked eyes for a short moment, then drank. That made four.

While Jane and I were doing our thing upstairs, Cherry was out back with Wendy and the .30. One of the men from inside ran out through the rear door after our platoon shot the man in the entryway. He tried to escape through a back alley, but the .30 cut him down as he ran. Nearly tore him in half. When the burn from the vodka faded, I asked Cherry, "What does it feel like?"

Cherry's eyes were glazing over. At sixteen, at her size and weight, four shots did damage. "Getting shot?"

I shook my head. In a sense, Cherry had lost the Militia lottery. She'd been on both ends of a gunshot. Soon after blowing that Imp's guts out in Kloden, she took a round in the ass. Still had to hide the limp. "Doing the shooting."

She lifted her cup to her mouth, but when she found it was already empty, set it aside. Looked through it like she was trying to see something else. Then she shrugged. "I don't know. Felt fucking good, I guess."

Cherry smiled, but more than anything, she looked indifferent. What she called 'feeling fucking good' never looked more like apathy. Like Jane loading another magazine in a hallway. Like a man unloading a bullet into himself.

I reached for our cups, and then for the fifth, but before I could pour the door opened behind us. Cherry looked up and groaned. I could tell we were in trouble. If Juno caught us drinking we'd be on patrol for a month. Welkin or Alicia would be worse. The end of the world would be Wulfstan. But Cherry rolled her eyes, and I knew we were in a different kind of trouble. I didn't have to look to know who it was. "Daerden."

Nils walked into the room, his boots falling heavy on the wooden floor. "What is that," he asked. "Tequila? Vodka? Rum?"

"Vodka," Cherry said, and looked away.

"Never liked vodka much myself." Nils joined us in the center of the room and sat. Waited for Cherry to glance his way. When she didn't, he grabbed the fifth and started reading the label. "Vodka doesn't taste. It just burns. All the way down. Sits there. And no matter what else you drink with it, you just can't wash that burn out." He set the bottle down. "Celebrating?"

"And just what would we be celebrating?"

Nils smiled, and lifted his head in triumph. "A good hunt."

Cherry finally looked at him. The shots were hitting, and she turned her head a little further than she meant to, but her bloodshot eyes and wild swinging only added to her fury. "You call that good? What part of what happened was good? We were supposed to take them alive, and we smoked them."

"So?"

"So we screwed up," I said. "Bad. Welkin's going to be running damage control for days. Captain's going to be furious. We had a mission and we failed. We should be better than that."

"Right," Nils said, almost laughing. The rest of the Squad was miserable, but it looked as if Nils was having the time of his life. "We're only upset that the Captain is going to be pissed. Not that we killed some guys, because fuck it, someone's got to die then someone's got to die. It's only wrong if the Captain doesn't like it."

"I didn't say that."

"Yeah," Nils said. "You said that."

Cherry turned away again, crinkling her nose and shuddering. It only seemed to make Nils happier. "So what if I did say that," I said. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I didn't say there was anything wrong with it. I'm just saying that's what you really mean. So we can be honest about all of this."

Nothing was ever honest with Nils involved. At least, not in the traditional sense of honesty. I knew that even if the Captain had wanted those men dead there was something wrong about what we'd done. I didn't know what it was, but Cherry and I would be just as drunk if the Captain had given us medals for the killings. For Nils, none of that seemed to make a difference. Dead or alive, mission completed or failed—it didn't matter. "I can't believe you."

"No?" Nils said, amused. "What part?"

"You don't care any more about those men than you think we do."

He laughed, and pulled out a cigarette. When he blew smoke into our circle, Cherry's nose wrinkled so tight I thought it would fall off. "Of course I don't. Don't care about the Captain, neither. If anyone screwed the pooch tonight, it was her."

Cherry tried to wave the smoke out of her face. Failing, she took short breaths and turned to Nils again. "The Captain? She just gave us orders. It makes sense she'd be pissed."

"Oh come on, Cherry, you can't believe that." He made a point to blow a cloud of smoke over her, and smiled as she tried her hardest to fight it off. "I mean, I've been trying to give you the benefit of the doubt and all, seeing as you've always been kind of a dumb slut, but you can't seriously think it's reasonable for Varrot to punish us. If she comes down us for this, it's because she has the power to, not because it makes sense."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He sat back. Made himself comfortable, but still managed to lift his chin and broaden his shoulders to make himself look important. Like he was the only person in the world who saw things for what they really were. A prophet. "Have either of you ever seen a dog fight?"

"A what?" Cherry asked.

"A dog fight."

I shook my head, and Cherry said, "No."

Nils cleared his throat. Took a deep breath. From the way he was postured, it wasn't hard to imagine him sitting in front of a podium. "There are a lot of different things you can do to train a fighting dog," he said. "You can beat them. Starve them. Put heavy chains on them, and keep adding weight as they grow. Keep them kenneled up with a bunch of other fighting dogs, but separate them so they can't actually make contact. Make them angry." He took another deep breath. "But the best way to train a fighting dog is what's called baiting."

Cherry and I looked at each other. She seemed nervous, and I shook my head, but she bit her lip anyway, and with a weak voice asked, "What's baiting?"

Nils smiled, and before I joined the military, I would have said it was the only thing I'd ever seen that I'd call evil. Now I wasn't so sure. "What's baiting is you take your dog and you chain it up, nice and tight. Give it a little room to jump around. To vent. Then you take some kind of small animal. Like a kitten. And you chain that up, too. And you chain it just out of the dog's reach. Now the dog, he gets riled. He smells that kitten. Smells the fear. He's barking, and jumping, but it isn't enough, so you scream at him. Throw things. Spray him with a hose. But that dog can't reach you, and the closest thing is that kitten. So he blames the cat." He sat back, satisfied, and said quietly, "Then you take the chains away."

Cherry's eyes went wide. She looked like she was going to whimper. "That's disgusting."

"What I'm saying is, you can do a lot of things with a fighting dog. You can make a lot of money with them. You can use them as guard dogs. Hell, as long as you keep them trained, they can make decent companions." He leaned forward until he wasn't more than a foot or two from our faces. "But once you throw that dog in the arena, you can't tell him he can't kill."

"The Captain," he continued, "she can give us orders. Put us on guard duty. On patrol. But once she puts guns in our hands and puts us in the field, she can't reasonably expect us not to kill every last motherfucker we knock heads with. That's not what we're for. Why what we're doing here can't work."

I ran the firefight through my head. Remembered the bullets tearing through the wall. Through skull. Tried to imagine a way to clear the building without killing the men inside. Every scenario I came up with ended with people in body bags. "There has to be some way," I said.

Nils sneered. "There is. We do our jobs. If the Captain doesn't like it, she shouldn't have sent us in."

Cherry poured herself another shot, and slammed it. I could watch it burn through her grimace. "The Captain is the Captain, and we had orders," she said. "I screwed them up. She's allowed to be pissed because she's the Captain. You don't like that, you shouldn't have joined the Militia."

Nils looked at her like he thought maybe she was retarded. When he decided she wasn't, he threw his hands in the air and groaned. "Goddammit, Cherry, that's exactly what I'm saying!"

Her eyes weren't focusing right, but she did her best to meet his gaze anyway. "What?"

"The Captain has every right to reprimand us for killing those guys if she wants to," he said, as if explaining it to an eight year old. "She can do that because she's the Captain. She has control over us. This is all about power. Everything is. It has nothing to do with what's objectively right. That doesn't exist. As long as she has control, she gets to decide what's right and what's wrong—but that doesn't make it reasonable."

"And we did what was wrong. If we did right, we could finish up here and leave, and nobody gets killed."

Nils shook his head. "No, we can't win here. Not the way the Captain wants."

"And why not?"

"Because we don't speak the same language."

Nils blew another cloud and then stumped out his half-smoked cigarette on the floor. I was sick of him. Wanted him gone, not because I thought he was insane, but because a small part of me agreed with him. "We have Freesia," I said, arguing more with myself than I was with him. "It's not like we can't understand."

"That's not what I mean." Nils wasn't smiling anymore, but he still looked smug. "We come here and we tell them we're friends. Then what do we do? We park our tank in the middle of their street and run armed patrols around town all of twenty-four hours. Anybody does that, I wouldn't call them friends. You don't cut friends in two with a .30 caliber machinegun."

Cherry recoiled. It was a low blow, but with Nils, just about everything was. She sunk down, and looked like she was going to pour herself another shot, so I grabbed the bottle and cradled it in my hands. "I don't think anybody really believes we're here to be their friends," I said. "That doesn't mean we have to kill each other."

Nils nodded, and for a moment I thought he was going to concede the point, but after a quick snort, he wiped his nose and pointed at me. "These people in town, what do you call them?"

"Romani."

"No," he said, laughing. "That's what Wavy calls them. What do you call them? When Freesia isn't around?"

Picking up the fifth was a bad idea. It took everything I had not to unscrew the cap and chug straight from the bottle. "Gyps."

Nils nodded. "Why?"

Before I knew it, I was drinking. "I don't know," I said. "Why?"

"Because naming is a form of control." He took the bottle from me and set it down in front of him. "As long as they're gyps, they aren't people. They're things. Property. When they call themselves Romani, what they're really saying is they're free people. They're saying that we don't own them. They gave themselves a new name."

"And we still call them Gallian."

"Because if they're Gallian, we control them." He sighed, and shifted in place. The water that had soaked into his uniform was pooling up on the floor beneath him. After he cleaned himself up a bit, he leaned forward again, but for the first time he looked at me as if we were equals. "They've changed the language," he continued, "but we're still using the old words. Until we can all agree on what to call them, the only way we're getting anything done around here is by putting their little boys in bags."

I sat silent, but Cherry was shaking. Biting the inside of her cheek. "This is such bullshit," she said. Cherry wasn't a quiet girl, but she wasn't confrontational. Got along well with almost everybody. Nils was an exception, and the vodka was doing most of the talking for her. "Dog fights? Seriously? We're not fucking dogs, and calling them gyps doesn't change anything."

Usually when a woman talked back to Nils, he looked like he wanted to choke her. But not with Cherry. He looked her over, up and down, then leaned closer. Dropped himself to her eye level. Like an equal. "What's your name?"

I could see Cherry trying to work the question through. She was sharp—deceptively so—but with five shots in her and a question so stupid, the dots weren't connecting. "Cherry."

Nils shook his head. "What does your mother call you? What did she write on your birth certificate?"

She stared at him, drowsy eyed and mouth open. Nodded as if she understood, then looked at the floor. "Cheryl."

Nils put his hand on her shoulder and nodded. Then he sat back again. "I'm not a religious man," he said, "but I believe in God. God the Father. God the Mother. When you're born, you're born free. You can become anything. Anyone. But once your parents give you a name, they control you. Cheryl, don't play in the street or you're going to time out. Cheryl, do your homework or you can't play with your friends. Cheryl, be home by eleven or you're grounded." He licked his lips and put a hand on her again. "Then the State says, Cheryl, take this gun and take this uniform and kill these people for me."

"My name is Cherry," she said, shaking his hand off, "and I volunteered for service. Nobody forced me to be here. Hell, my mother cried when I told her I enlisted."

Nils smiled—an honest smile. Like he was comforting a sister. In a twisted way, it was heartwarming. "When you shed your birth name you become your own person again. A second birth. You are Cherry, and I'm Nils. Everyone else is property."

He stood up, and brushed off his uniform. It didn't look any cleaner, but when he was done he looked satisfied. "That man who shot himself tonight," he said, looking down at me. "I came to tell you he's alive. Thought you might want to know." He walked to the door, but turned back towards us before walking through. "Good night, Cherry." He glanced at me and said, "Goodnight," and then he called me, "Private."

I couldn't believe that man survived. Not with his head in as many pieces as it was. Even with our medics. With Ves'tacha. But I knew Nils was telling the truth. He was the most dishonest man I ever knew who never told a lie. Somehow, that man was living and breathing with a head fractured like a shattered egg.

If it had been me, I'd rather be dead.

Cherry and I sat, but neither of us spoke. The conversation was done. With nothing left to say, Cherry grabbed the fifth and our cups, and poured another round.

* * *

The worst part about a hangover is the way the room spins. No matter what you look at, everything is moving. Even if you close your eyes you can see waves in the black behind your eyelids.

I woke with Cherry's head on my chest, and her arms curled around my neck. Somewhere between shots six and seven she'd started crying. Needed someone to comfort her, so I gave her my shoulder. Before either of us knew it, we'd passed out.

I needed to roll her off of me so I could get up, but she didn't wake. My head was pounding. I was so thirsty I could drink all the rain in Barious. But the spinning—I had to sit back down for a good ten minutes before I could move, and even then I only got up because my watch told me my first patrol started in five.

The rain was coming down steady, but softer than the night before. I don't know if it was because I was hung-over or because I'd just woken up, but it felt more miserable. Colder. Like pins pushing through skin.

The town had changed, too. Even with the storm, the villagers had kept the streets busy the past few days. People had moved from house to house. Kids played out in the puddles, or took turns slinging mud at the Edelweiss. Now the streets were mostly empty. The few citizens we saw outside were armed. Rifles. The legal kind. Ones we couldn't touch.

I made it all the way through my first patrol before I threw up in an alley somewhere off of their main street. With each heave the world spun a little less, and by the time I was done I felt pretty good for being hung-over. I stayed there in the alley with my knees in the mud and my palms flat on the ground until I felt a hand rubbing my back. "You look like shit," a voice said.

I looked up, and it was Jane. She knelt in the mud next to me, and wiped the hair out of my face. "Vodka," I said.

She shook her head, disappointed. "Where did you get vodka? Knute?"

I shook my head.

"Cherry then," she said. "I'm going to have to have a few words with that girl."

I started standing, and needed Jane to pull me up to get back on my feet. The moment I was straight, I started seeing the waves again. "No. It was my idea."

"Don't worry," she said. "I've got some words for you, too." She started pushing me back towards the street. All I wanted was to curl up in the alley and die. "Come on, let's sit you down."

Jane led me to front porch near where she'd found me. It had an overhang, but water splashed up from where the rain fell into the puddles and sprayed our legs. That was about as dry as we were going to get. There were a few chairs, so we sat and watched as our patrols passed by.

I sat with my head resting in one of my hands. Jane sat leaning forward with her elbows resting on her thighs. In her hands, she held a small doll, and stroked its yarn hair with her thumb. "You get one of those back?" I asked.

She nodded. Our rucks weren't big, and with everything we needed to carry we didn't have a lot of room for personal items. Most people carried a few of their own belongings, though. Some people carried a few books. Others carried pictures, or things given to them by family members or friends. Cherry had her fifth.

Jane didn't carry anything for herself. Instead, every time we stopped in Randgriz she bought as many stuffed dolls as she could carry. Put them anywhere she had spare storage space. Whenever we liberated a city or town, she'd hand one off to any kid she could find. Even if we were on their side, seeing a bunch of people with guns and uniforms was scary. The dolls always put a smile on their faces. "Found it on the road out here," she said, and I saw that it was sopping wet and caked with mud. "Saw two more tossed off a street over, and one in a gutter on the other side of town."

She looked at the doll and smiled like she was trying to show me she wasn't hurt. She wasn't very good at it. I said, "Even the kids have written us off."

Jane nodded, and looked up, but her fingers still stroked the toy in her hands. I could hear her breathing. Slow, and ragged. "I didn't sign up for this shit," she said. "I'll kill Imperials all day long. Young. Old. Doesn't mean shit difference to me." She took a last look at the doll before throwing it back into the street. It fell into a puddle, and floated for a moment before sinking. Only an arm and half of its head stuck out above the water. "But these are people."

"They're carrying guns now."

"Yeah."

"If it comes down to it, we will have to shoot back."

She stopped breathing. Then she let it all out in one blow. "Yeah."

I wondered if she ran that man shooting himself through her head last night as much as I did. The way she sat hunched over, I knew she had. Probably more. "Are you going to be alright?"

In the street, the doll sank deeper into the puddle until it was just strands of yarn floating in muck. Like a body dumped into a wadi. "Your flower," Jane said, still watching the doll. "You switched it."

"What?"

She pointed to my lapel. "That flower you're wearing. It's smaller than the one you had yesterday."

"Oh, that." Of course Jane would notice. She was a florist. Ves'tacha had made me promise not to tell anybody she'd given me hers. "I like this one better."

She nodded, and looked back out into the rain. Her smile disappeared—lips pressed tight. "I hate flowers," she said.

The storm picked up. Then it lulled. It shifted in cycles for about an hour while we watched. Sometimes coming down in torrents, other times in a drizzle. A group of villagers passed by, carrying their rifles and glaring at us as they passed. "Their town watch is still missing," I said.

She shrugged. "They'll be back."

"You think?"

Jane watched as the last traces of yarn disappeared below the puddle's surface and said, "This won't end any other way."

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Even war has order. Soldiers are given ranks so we can have a clear chain of command. We're divided into platoons and Squads and battalions to keep us organized. Generals draw up battle plans to keep our attacks coordinated. We're given rules—you can shoot infantry, but you can't shoot medics or prisoners—and we're told not to get caught breaking them. Even when our officers are dead, and our units are broken, and the battle plans shredded, and the rules thrown out the window, somebody somewhere has everything all sorted out.

At least that's what we were told.

I didn't know how long it had been since I watched that man shoot himself. All I knew was that I woke up one morning with four days of beard on my chin. I'd run out of clean clothes ages ago. My once white socks were black. Everything I had was covered in mud, or blood, or both.

The man who blew his head off still hadn't died.

For whatever that was worth.

I wasn't scheduled to man an outpost or walk patrol, but I couldn't sleep, so I took a stroll down to the Aid Station. Freesia wasn't there. I wasn't looking for her—not really—but it still felt like a wasted trip. Her anger had given way to indifference at some point between when my uniform turned from brown with blue splotches to just plain brown, and her distance felt just as ugly. Smelled even worse.

The Aid Station was crowded; Gina and Mina bustled around organizing and tending to equipment, and Jann lay in bed with his leg resting on his ruck. Nina and Dallas sat with him, chatting.

The man with half a head lay in bed in a coma. Ves'tacha cleaned what wasn't covered of his face with a wet rag and held his hand. Nobody else seemed to care.

I walked to his bed, and when she saw me, Ves'tacha smiled. Maybe she didn't know I watched him pull the trigger, or that maybe I would have shot him if he hadn't. Maybe she didn't care. She looked at her flower on my lapel—wilting now, and dirty—and winked. She still wore mine.

"Mr. Milton!" Jann said from across the room. "What brings such a brave young man to the lion's den today?"

Nina rolled her eyes. Dallas tried not to laugh, and did a pretty good job of it. I looked to Ves'tacha, but she'd already taken back to tending to her friend. If they were friends. "Came to see The Lion himself," I said, and walked to Jann's bedside. "Heard he had a thorn in his paw."

"Just a scratch. Unless a Little Mouse wants to come to my rescue, you know what I'm saying?"

Jann's laughter roared. He looked back and forth between Nina and Dallas, who looked back and forth between each other like they'd heard a variation of the same joke half a dozen times. Nina said, "The ricochet didn't do much damage itself, but it's infected. Nothing serious. Gina just wanted him here to clean it out."

"Shot him up with a healthy dose of Ragnaid," Dallas added. "He's feeling pretty good right now."

Jann kept laughing. It died slow, but his smile didn't fade. "At least that makes one of us," I said.

Nina and Dallas nodded. There's an order to how people fall apart. It's hard to notice at first, but Nina misses a run. Ted doesn't crack an easy joke. You spend all day wondering what new dark shade of eyeshadow Ramona's wearing, only to realize hours later she isn't wearing makeup at all.

You wake up with a beard.

"What brings you around?" Nina asked. She hadn't run in days.

"Killing time, mostly."

Jann reached for my shoulder, but fell short. "You didn't have to come all the way out here for my sake," he said. "I'm flattered, but I'm right as rain." He closed his eyes, then tried to reach out again. Another miss. "Not this rain, though. Healthy rain. You know?"

"I'll take your word for it."

Nina and Dallas laughed again. Across the room, Ves'tacha covered her mouth like she was thinking really hard, and pretended she wasn't watching.

I pretended I wasn't watching, too.

"You get word from Juno?" Dallas asked.

The thing about Ves'tacha wasn't that she was pretty. She was—had that Trademarked Freesia elegance—but she didn't interest me the way most women did. "No. Is something up?"

"Yeah. Lieutenant's speaking with the platoon leaders now. Rumor says another change in procedure."

I was only just starting to figure her out. Why I felt so attached to her. At first I thought she reminded me of my sister. The more I saw her, the more I realized that wasn't it. "Again? We just changed that up."

Nina shrugged. "Don't look at us. I'm just doing what I'm told."

Dallas said, "I don't even know what I'm told."

It took getting drunk with Cherry to understand. Being beat down by Nils' pedagogy. Ves'tacha had gravity because she was the only person in town I had any kind of positive feelings for. Everyone else I was indifferent at best. Some of them I despised. As long as there was at least one of them I liked—even if just a little—Nils was wrong. "I don't think anybody knows anymore," I said.

"I know, Little Mouse," Jann replied, and he reached for my beard.

Miss.

* * *

Two hours later we stood in the town square while Juno rattled out the latest decree. Most of us only half listened, and the rest listened half of that. The truth about war is that even if it has order, nobody gives a fuck. If you're blown in half in formation or out of it, you're still dead. Follow the wrong orders or no orders at all, you're still shit-canned. It doesn't make a difference whether you shoot the wrong person or don't shoot the right one when nobody knows who to kill.

But Juno was a Sergeant, and we were Privates, so we stood in the rain like dogs on their haunches praying to be unchained and begging to be anywhere else. Juno lectured through something about standards of proof that nobody understood. We nodded anyway, acknowledging the chevrons on her shoulder more than anything she actually said. Rank can't make anybody care, but it makes them listen.

Ambivalence has order, too.

"If you have probable cause to believe that contraband will be found inside of a stopped vehicle," Juno said, "you can go ahead and search it, but only if—" She paused, flipping through her pages on pages of soaking wet notes. She looked frustrated. Everyone did. "Yeah," Juno continued, "that's right. You can search the vehicle, but you can't look through any containers that the contraband you're looking for wouldn't fit inside. So for example, if you're looking for rifles, you couldn't search a purse, but if you're looking for bullets, you could."

"Aren't we looking for both?" Mica asked.

"Well, yes, but—"

"So as long as it can fit a bullet, we can search any purses."

"I didn't say that. Only in vehicles, and only if—"

"Do these people even have purses?" Audrey asked.

"They hardly even have fucking vehicles," Hermes said.

Juno's hour worth of content turned into a three hour question and hesitant, unsure answer marathon. The problem with the Militia is if you're dumb enough to get folded in, you sure as Hell aren't smart enough to do more than lift and tote and shoot and reload. Sure, we had Juno. And yeah, we had Wavy and Nadine and Knute and Karl. Even Nils and Cherry had their moments. But the rest of us were fuckups who needed the money or were too stupid to get a waiver. God help us volunteers. Trying to teach us anything requiring more thought than figuring out which end of our rifles to point downfield was like trying to teach a porcavian to paint, and it took us years of schooling and months of Boot to even get the rifle thing right.

All of this was just a big fat fuckin' waste of time.

"Juno," I said, knowing the space her lecture took up in my head would be better served with the sense to keep my mouth shut, "what are we supposed to be doing here?"

"I'm sorry?" Juno asked.

"All this stuff about searches and warrants—that's police stuff." I looked left, then right. A few people perked up. "We're not police. So what do they really expect us to do here?"

Juno worked well under pressure. Task her with taking a pillbox and she'd have her men charging before you finished giving the order. Tell her to hold a position and she'd stay there to the last man. Die there, if she had to. No questions asked. But if you challenged her intellectually—really stuck it to her—that's where she frazzled. "I've been telling you that for the past three hours, Milton," she said, flat and short.

"Yeah, I get that." I didn't, but whatever. "I mean, we're Militia. That's not what we're for. Varrot can give us orders, and you can spend a few hours telling us all about warrants and domiciles and exigent suspicion or whatever, but at the end of the day, they spent the last fifteen-odd years training us to shoot people. So what do you honestly want us to do?"

The truth was, I didn't care that the orders were changing again. Yeah, they confused the Hell out of me, but I wasn't there to think. Thinking was a burden that came with rank. Really, this was all about Nils. I needed Juno to tear me down. Rip me apart until everything he'd put in there was drowned in the wadi. It didn't need to make sense. I just needed an answer.

Juno paused. Must of went through the issues five times over in her head. Then she stepped forward, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, "Just do what the fuck you're told."

There's an order to how we fall apart.

Nobody's immune.

* * *

I spent the rest of the day doing what I did every day—exactly what I was told. That meant patrol. The thing about patrols is they're all the same. Unless you're on the front, it doesn't matter where you are. City streets. Country roads. Forests. Hills. It's all about killing time. Looking busy until you're relieved. Trying not to think too much. Failing. Every day on patrol is exactly the same. Until it isn't.

Cezary saw the man first. He nudged Melville and asked, "That guy look familiar to you?"

The man he pointed out walked on the other side of the street. Hands at his side. No weapons. Didn't even look our way. "No," Melville said.

But I knew him. I was never good with faces, but I'd never forget his. He was even wearing that same Goddamn shirt. "That's him!" I yelled, raising my Mags and running forward. "He's Town Watch!"

If you want to stay a good person in a shitty situation, you don't need to worry about corruption. When Damon orders gas rounds loaded into your battery, a good person tells him to shove it, no problem. Orders can be ignored. They'll even give you a medal for it once the dust settles. When you have to make a snap choice between the angel on your left shoulder and the demon on your right, and it's your dick on the chopping block, your greatest enemy is conditioning. "Wait! Salinas, stop!" Melville yelled. "I don't see a gun!" But even before the words streamed from his mouth, his rifle was aimed at the man's chest.

"I don't give a damn about a gun, he shot Jann!"

The man's eyes went wide. Wide enough to take in a bullet. Wide enough I couldn't miss—not this time. I ordered his hands up, but before he could move I'd forced him against the wall of a building. The smack of his cheek crushing against brick was more satisfying than a hot meal in a warm bed.

Melville begged me to stop again, but didn't lower his gun. Cezary said, "Seriously, Milton. What's our plan here?"

There wasn't a plan. No point pretending. Someone like Hector would have stepped away. Decided that even if the man was involved in the convoy shooting and the firefight by the wadi, he was still Gallian, and had all the rights and privileges associated. Hector was a good man, and if he somehow found himself in my position, he'd let the guy go.

Fuck that shit. "Pat him down."

Melville didn't move. After a few beats, Cezary lowered his rifle and stepped up. "This is a bad idea, Sal. Hope you know that."

"Cezary," Melville said, "don't. We can't just stop a guy without—"

"I know what Juno said. Keep your gun on him."

Cezary took my place and, with gentler hands, began his search. In turn I lifted my Mags. Part of me hoped he'd give me an excuse to fire. Be done with it, here and now. "Anything?" I asked.

"Nothing." Cezary turned to me, and though he didn't say it, looked relieved. "He's clean."

The man against the wall smiled. "Look again."

"Sal, he's—"

"Do it."

Cezary shook his head, but began another search. We weren't alone anymore. Villagers gathered at a distance, watching. More arrived as Cezary continued, huddling in small groups and whispering. Hans and Dorothy noticed as well, and though I couldn't give them a good answer when they asked what was happening, they worked crowd control.

"Well what do you know?" Cezary said. "Still nothing."

The man kept his hands pressed against the bricks, but watched me out of the corner of his eyes. Still smiling. Mocking. "Again."

"No."

"He's one of them. I don't care if he doesn't have anything. Put something on him if you have to. We need—"

"No, fuck you." He put his hands up and stepped away. "We're not going to be brig rats for your bullshit. We're done here."

Melville lowered his weapon. Though he wasn't told he could, the man on the wall dropped his hands and turned around. Dusted himself off like it was no big deal. I said, "I want to talk to him."

"Yeah, good fuckin' luck."

It was a shit-show getting worse by the second. I knew it. Cezary knew it. The guy I'd thrown against the wall had to know it, too. But I'd seen him. He'd been there when we came to town. He'd been there when Jann was shot. He'd disappeared, but I had him. "Mel," I said, pointing down the road. "Get Freesia."

Melville stuttered. "But—"

"Now."

"It's alright, Mel." Cezary said. He didn't look Melville's way, but he glared at me. "Go on and get her. See where it gets him."

Melville left in a hurry. Cezary stayed, but we waited in silence. More villagers gathered to watch, and when Susie came along with Montley and Lynn, Dorothy and Hans shrugged.

Freesia wouldn't be happy. But too damn bad. She was already pissed at me anyhow. If tossing a little more wood on the fire got us out of the village and back to what we were before, I'd throw a forest in.

Melville returned with Freesia, and if I hadn't seen her walking, I'm not sure I would have believed she could. Her eyes were red and bleary. Irises dulled. Face saggy. Looked twice her age at least. She met my gaze—expressionless—and waited.

I pointed to the man. "This guy's town watch. We checked for—"

"I know who he is."

"—weapons, but—" It took a moment for her words to come through. Her voice was froggy. Tone gone. "You do?"

"I always knew you weren't a smart guy, Milton," she said, "but I never thought you were retarded. Are you? Retarded, I mean."

She knew where it hurt. Not calling me stupid. Not even calling me retarded. The first was true, and the second couldn't have been far off. But 'Milton' stung more than a hangover. "How?"

"I've talked with everyone in town for more than a week." She closed her eyes, and her lids were so droopy I wasn't sure if she opened them again. "Whether I've actually met him or not, I at least know who he is."

Why hadn't she told me? "What's his name?"

"What do you care what his name is?"

"What's his name?"

Her eyes were definitely open now. They looked their normal size, but even that was forced. "Brishen."

Brishen never stopped smiling. He beamed at the mention of his name. Ear to Goddamn ear. He was eating it up. "Well Brishen here was with that group that fired on us near the wadi. I saw him. He knows where those weapons are."

"Yeah," Freesia said.

I waited for more, but it didn't come. "We need to interrogate him."

Freesia looked Brishen up and down. Said something in their language. Brishen shook his head. She shrugged. "He doesn't want to talk right now."

"Make him."

Nobody said anything for a long time. Cezary stepped far back the moment Freesia showed up. Melville kept his distance, too. Freesia had a blank slate for a face. "Back when they shot at us by the wadi—when Jann got hit. Did you ever see him with a weapon?"

I said, "No."

"Does he have one on him now?"

"No."

"Alright." She nodded, then nodded again. Turned to Melville and said, "He's free to go."

I could have followed Brishen when Melville and Cezary waved him along. He wouldn't have led us anywhere—not after our stop—but that didn't matter. I wanted to take him down, and I wanted him to know it. We could have followed him all day and night and had nothing to show for it, and everything would have been alright. I followed Freesia instead. "The fuck you mean he's 'free to go'?" I yelled at her back.

She didn't stop walking away, but said, "No guns and no cause for arrest. You're wasting my time, and wasting—"

"He's one of them! Cut the bullshit and—"

Freesia spun on her heels, and she was beautiful again. Vibrant. Elegant. She was in my face in the span of a second. Her finger pushing into my throat. "You don't talk over me!" she screamed. "You don't ever get to talk over me! You understand that?"

"He shoots Jann and you're going to, what, let him go? Fuck that! We're only in this shit because of him! I'm not—"

"Know what your fuckin' problem is, Milton? You just can't—"

"I'm not going to stand by while this Gyp son of a bitch—"

Freesia's haymaker caught me above the eye. Twisted my head and brought me to a knee. She'd put her body into it.

This was the point where the angel and the demon on my shoulders were supposed to start arguing. Where the angel talked me out of doing something stupid. Cooler heads would win the day. I'd prevail a Hector instead of falling an ignorant, pissed off, quarter-step above retarded grunt. But after fifteen years of training and four months in the field, the only real God is conditioning.

I sprang forward and hammered my fist through her stomach before I even realized she'd hit me.

Freesia crumpled hard into the road. Tried to gasp for air, but couldn't. I couldn't breathe any better than she could.

Everyone screamed. Swore. Cezary spun me around. He hit me, too, and when I fell to the ground he sat on my chest and hit me again. Then he hit me more. His fist came down, and down again, and all I could taste was blood. I didn't fight back.

I don't know. Felt fucking good, I guess.

A Mags burst cut the air. As the report faded, Cezary stopped. Musaad stood in the street, flanked by Kevin and Edy—the latter with her Mags still aimed to the storm above. He looked us over while Cezary crawled off. "What the fuck is going on here?" he yelled.

Brishen was gone. Freesia was breathing, but it came ragged. Gasps, more than anything. Her fingers clutched at the mud, and when they sifted through, clutched again.

I wanted to black out. Cezary could have put me in a coma for all I cared. The best thing would have been to pass out and sleep forever.

I never did.

* * *

The brig was nothing more than a second floor room near the edge of town. There was a table, a chair, and a small window, but not much else. They didn't let me bring my ruck. No bed. No blanket. No weapon. Nothing.

The room's door was wood. The hinges old and rusted. It wouldn't have taken more than half a kick to blow through it, but what was the point? The village was already a prison. I had nowhere to go but more trouble. They didn't even post a guard.

My brow crept over the eye where Freesia and Cezary pummeled me. I was pretty sure I had some kind of concussion, but Mina gave me a half-assed exam before sending me to my cell. She didn't say anything. Nobody did.

I spent the first three hours pissed at Brishen. His smug smile. How he could shoot up a convoy, shoot Jann, and then walk through town like he had the right. How I couldn't touch him. But that faded. I spent the next three hours pissed at Freesia. She was my best friend. Best friend I'd ever had. She should have stood by me. Trusted me. That's what friends do. Fuck the rest. Fuck her.

Then it struck me: How could I expect her to have my back if I didn't have hers?

I spent the rest of the day pissed at myself.

* * *

Someone came by with food every six hours or so. It was never anything good, and worse than the standard rations, but I was hungry. I counted three food cycles before I got a knock on the door. It came early.

When Freesia stepped inside, I looked away. She was dead again. Old. She wasn't bruised and bloody like I was, but we'd hurt each other inside more than out. "I don't think it's a good idea you come around here," I said.

"It's not," she replied, listless. "Didn't come for me."

Ves'tacha walked in next to her. She wasn't smiling, but she didn't look angry. It was a nice change of pace. One I didn't deserve. "She wanted to look you over," Freesia continued. "Told her not to bother, but she insisted. Wouldn't shut up about it."

Ves'tacha approached, timid at first, and held my head in her hands. She looked at my bruises. Looked at the scrapes and cuts. My eyes. My flower. She let go of my head, and spoke.

"What's she saying?" I asked.

"I agreed to bring her to see you," Freesia answered, arms crossed. "Didn't say anything about translating."

She tried not to look at me, but stole quick glances before dropping her gaze to the floor. I nodded. That was fair. "I shouldn't have called you a Gyp."

"I shouldn't have hit you."

"I had it coming."

She shrugged. "Never said you didn't."

Ves'tacha spoke again, and Freesia snorted. It was the closest to a translation I was going to get. I said, "Thank you," and she stepped away. Smiled gently. Walked out.

Freesia moved to follow. Before she left, I said, "I wish we were out of here," and she stopped. "Not just out of here, I mean. Not just this room. Not just the village, even. Out of all this shit. Out of the Militia. Maybe even out of Gallia. I don't care. Just gone from here."

She took a deep breath. Debated whether to walk out of the cell and close the door behind her or stay. She turned around. "Want me to help drive the nails through your hands, or do you pretty much have that covered yourself?"

I didn't answer. "Know what your problem is, Milton?" she continued. "You just can't trust that, for whatever stupid reason, someone's looking out for you."

She didn't look angry. She should have, but it was masked in mud and dirt and fatigue. Too withdrawn to care. Then again, sometimes anger just looks like apathy. "When we first got here," I said. "When Juno let me sleep in. Were you the one who asked?"

Freesia laughed. Threw her hands up. "Christ. That's not even what I'm talking about. That's not even close to what I'm talking about. You just—" She looked for words she couldn't find. I gave her all the time she needed, and eventually she stepped closer. "I know you love me," she said. "Maybe not like how Karl loves Lynn, but it's still love. I know that. And I know you trust me, too. You respect me. I get that." Soon she was next to where I sat. She leaned against the table, back turned to my chair. "But you don't have a shred of faith in me. And you know what? That's fine. I can hang."

She pushed herself off the table and walked to the door. Pressed her forearm against the frame and rested her head. "And if that was all it was, that'd be just fine. I'm good at pretending. But you come up empty across the board. You can't find it in you to believe in anyone here. Anything. Least of all yourself."

Thank God she hid her face. Even now she was willing to extend at least that courtesy. But even her back hurt to watch, so I looked away. Someone who was in the brig before me had scrawled ' _In Varrot We Trust_ ' across the far wall. "Do you believe in what we're doing?" I asked.

"What do you think?"

No. Of course not. But she still worked harder over the last week than the lot of us combined. "Then why are you here?"

She turned her head just far enough to look at me. Her eyes were glossy and bloodshot. Hopeless. "Yeah," she said. "I figured you pretty much had it covered yourself."

She shut the door behind her when she left. It didn't slam. It wasn't heavy. Felt too light to be real. I listened for the storm outside, but couldn't hear it. There were no distractions in the brig. Just thoughts. For a long while I stared at the door, alone with the Ves'tacha's flower and the words written on the wall.

* * *

Ted brought my food that night. He brought good news, too, or so he called it. Said Cezary had already been released, which was fantastic, because most of the Squad was moving out, and they needed all the guns they could get. Except mine. I was on a special shit list.

He told me they found the weapons cache a ways outside of town—it was just a matter of rolling through and clearing the place out. Another informant let slip where the guns were kept, and a recon patrol confirmed it. Had eyes on the bastards, even now. The Squad's weapons section would hold down the fort in town, and Freesia would catch some long past due bunk, but the rest of the Squad was going to get wet. We'd be shipped to the front lines by noon tomorrow.

That's great, I said. So glad to hear.

Ted stuck around longer than he needed to. Waited while I ate. Cracked a few jokes. None of them were funny. He left with a smile on his face, and I smiled for him, too.

All this shit I got myself in, and they were going without me. All the anger. All the hate. Frustration. They were riding out to take Brishen down, and they were leaving me behind.

God, what a relief.

I laughed. Laughed and laughed. Laughed past where it hurt. Laughed until I cried. I knew then that I'd never really hated Brishen. He was just a target—something to take myself out on. I didn't want to kill him. I didn't want to kill anyone.

Now I didn't have to.

I forgot all about Freesia that night. Things would get better in the morning. We'd skip town, and she'd be pissed for a while, but it'd fade. I could show her I had faith. Not in myself—she was right about that much. But she was a different story.

Without a blanket, I curled into a ball in the room's corner. It was cold, but that was just fine. I closed my eyes, and for the first night in a long while, slept dreamless.

* * *

I woke to thunder. It struck somewhere on the other side of town, but that was still close enough to reverberate. It was dark out, but I'd lost track of time. There was no way to tell when I was getting another meal. When I was getting out.

It was chilly in the brig, so I wrapped my arms around my chest. The one benefit of being locked up for so long was that I'd mostly dried off. My uniform was crisp and stiff with caked mud, but I could hardly remember the last time it wasn't soaked. A small comfort. The thunder crashed again.

Then it popped.

Popped.

Popped.

Rattled like Wendy's .30.

Fuck.

Outside my window, a few of the villagers scurried into their homes and shut the doors behind them. A few others poured out with guns in hand. Shit. Did they know I was there? If they had I would've already been dead. But I couldn't stay. They'd find me eventually.

Another explosion. The Lancaar? Ted told me they were taking care of—

They probably weren't back yet. That left us with the weapons section and Freesia. Fuck, Freesia. I needed to find her. I needed a weapon.

I needed to get out. Easy enough. Wouldn't take more than half a kick. I swallowed hard, and stood in front of the door. This was it. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Didn't want to kill. But Freesia wasn't here. If she wasn't, I couldn't be, either.

The door cracked under my boot, swung wide, and let me through into the storm.

* * *

Back home in Montdam, contractors came in from all over to work the mines for weeks at a time. They were paid more than us locals were, but when the nights wound down, and they pulled the folded, soot covered pictures of their children or wives out of their wallets, the way they told stories about their families felt like they were talking about somebody elses' kids.

After a shift everyone met up for drinks at The Refinery. The Refinery was a local bar—the only one we had—and it didn't matter where you were from. If you'd been in the mine you sat for drinks. No buts. No maybes.

About twice a year, Roland Thomas swung into town. Roland was a decent enough guy. Served in the last war. He'd been mining before I was alive, and it showed. He knew every safety code front and back. Worked like a dog. Showed up for his shift before most of us were out of bed, and pounded away down in the seam until everyone else left the shaft. The only problem with Roland was that he was a drinker.

He had some kind of tiff with one of the other contractors who always came in around the same time—guy named Wally Carlisle. Roland and Wally worked through their shifts like nothing was wrong. Didn't speak to one another, but didn't avoid none if the job called for it. But put drinks in them and they were at each others' throats. This went on night after night after night.

They'd start out at opposite ends of The Refinery, and drink by drink edge closer to the center. You could tell time watching for how close they were sitting. When they met, all bets were off.

Sometimes they screamed. Sometimes they threw things. Every once in a while they traded blows. Patrons jumped between them, and as they were dragged out, Roland would yell, "I don't want to fight! Let me go! I don't want to fight!"

Wally had a stroke in 31'. The next time Roland came to town and we met for drinks, he asked where the son of a bitch was. "About fucking time," he said when we told him Wally was dead. "Now I can finally drink in peace."

He laughed that night. Drank more than I'd ever seen a man drink. The next night he smiled and talked, but kept mostly to the bar's outskirts. On the third night he drank in silence, and by the end of the week he didn't touch his beer at all. He just sat.

Roland skipped town early that season. Didn't bother saying goodbye.

We never saw him again after that.

 

 


End file.
